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FOR THE 


SINS OF HIS YOUTH. 




MRS. JANE KAVANAGH. 





COPYRIGHT 1887, BY 

G. JV, Dillinghaiii, Publisher^ 

Successor to G. W. Carleton & Co. 

LONDON : S. LOW, SON & CO. 
MDCCCLXXXVII. 


TROW’S 

PRINTING and bookbinding COMPANY, 
NEW YORK. 


PEBFACE. 


In offering this, my lirst book, to the public, I 
desire to say, that while many of the scenes are 
drawn from reality, the characters are entirely 
fictitious and in no wise intended to represent 
living persons. 

It has been my good fortune to become famil- 
iar with the different phases of the American 
character, and from that experience and observ- 
ance, I have drawn the characters of this story. 
So, trusting that my readers will receive my work 
wfith a tolerant forbearance of its faults, I send it 
forth to seek a welcome. 


J. K. 




















CONTENTS. 


CHAPTER I. 

Page 

SiLVERTON Folks . . . . . .7 

CHAPTER II. 

Margery Stewart . . . . . .25 

CHAPTER HI. 

Rachel’s Story . . . . . .44 

CHAPTER IV. 

The Ladies’ Meeting . . . . .60 

CHAPTER V. 

The Minister Must Go . . . . .79 

CHAPTER VI. 

The New Preacher . . . . .93 

CHAPTER VII. 

The Dinner at Me. Wentworth’s . . .Ill 

CHAPTER VIII. 

A Lift in Life ...... 129 


VI 


Co7itents. 


CHAPTER IX. 

Page 

In a Workman’s Home . ’ . . . . 149 

CHAPTER X. 

Evelyn’s Ans\ver ...... 167 

CHAPTER XL 

A Startling Revelation . . . . .186 

CHAPTER XH. 

Frank’s Mother ...... 204 

CHAPTER XIH. 

A Call to Mr. Winters ..... 223 
CHAPDER XIV. 

Death’s Ravages ...... 243 

CHAPTER XV. 

A Christian Woman’s Will .... 262 
CHAPTER XVI. 

A Divided Flock ...... 278 

CHAPTER XVII. 

Wedding Bells ...... 296 

CHAPTER XVHI. 

Sister and Brother . . . . .312 


CHAPTER XIX. 


Conclusion . 


. 328 


FOE THE 


SINS OF HIS YOUTH. 


OHAPTEE I. 

. SILVERTON FOLKS. 

A PARTY of gentlemen sat together one 
winter evening in the welhfurnished par- 
lor of the residence of one of the wealthiest 
men of Silverton. 

They were the leading men in the several 
factories of the place, and they had met to dis- 
cuss a plan to raise funds to carry on the build- 
ing of a new church for Silverton. 

Of course, the subject had been talked over 
by the gentlemen, previous to this meeting, and 


8 


Silverto7i Folks, 


the ways and means had been freely discussed 
by them, and others of the church members, not 
connected with the factories, and had come to 
their meetings, prepared to put down their names 
to amounts within their means. 

The business which had called them together 
at the invitation of the master of the house, 
Mr. Herbert Wentworth, was about to proceed 
when an interruption occurred, through the 
quick entrance' of a gentleman, who, though 
not invited specially, deemed himself sufficiently 
one of them to be there. 

Mr. Wentworth looked ux3 with a frown of 
imx)atience on his brow ; he had hoped, indeed, 
to exclude the new-comer from this council, and 
get his own jdan carried out, without Horace 
Stewart’s interference — which he felt quite sure 
Avould be antagonistic to his own views. 

However, there was no help for it now, and 
therefore he proceeded to inform his colleagues 
of his x)lan. 

“And now, gentlemen,” he went on, ‘‘ we have 
agreed that we must have funds to go on with 


Silverton Folks, 


9 


the church. Our name and credit would suffer 
before the whole country, did we stop now, and 
it must be completed at any cost — but how ? We 
have each contributed sums at the commence- 
ment, and we do not feel justified in contribut- 
ing the balance needed. Now, to my proposi- 
tion. Why should not our workmen help to 
build the church that will be an ornament to our 
city % — and I propose to let them do so.” 

Well, I must say,” remarked Mr. Howard — 
another of the gentlemen — with a sarcastic smile 
at his host’s proj^osition, ‘‘that if our cordial 
agreement with your very original proposition 
would help build the church, it would soon be 
completed ; but I fail to see,” he continued earn- 
estly, “ how our letting them do so will induce 
our workmen to contribute towards the building 
of a church that but very few of them even 
belong to.” 

“Your logic is good, Mr. Howard,” returned 
the host, “ they would scarcely contribute will- 
ingly, it is true ; but I propose to enforce their 

contributions by a general reduction of their 
1 * 


10 


Silverton Folks. 


wages, and I say, in justification of my proposal, 
that as the church will be an improvement to 
our city, it is also for the workmen’s benefit.” 

“Do I understand you aright, Mr. Wentworth, 
that you are proposing to reduce the workmen’s 
wages, and donate the sum taken from them to 
our church ? Why! they would be sure to pro- 
test loudly in disfavor of it, and 1 for one will 
not offer such a proposition to my workmen,” 
said Horace Stewart. 

“I don’t propose to inform the workmen at 
all why’ their wages are reduced. We can set 
down the sums opposite our own names, as it 
would really be the offering of the employees,” 
answered Mr. Wentworth, coldly. 

“ Why, Mr. Wentworth !” and Horace Stew- 
art’s handsome face fiushed hotly, ‘‘what you 
propose seems to me to be nothing less than an 
I injustice to our workmen.” 

I ‘‘Oh, pshaw!” returned his host, somewhat 
angrily, “I see no injustice at all in my proposi- 
tion. The workmen are prospering fairly, that is 
the most of them, and the erection of our church 


Silverton Folks. 


1 1 


will improve the growth of our city, and why 
should they not be made to take an interest in its 
improvement f ’ 

“I doubt their favorable interest in the 
growth of the city if they are forced to take from 
the comfort of their families, to help build a 
church that few of them will ever attend, and I, 
for one, will not engage in oppressing my work- 
men. Of my own means, I will contribute — and 
only that,” and Horace Stewart turned away 
from the contest. 

But it proved that he only disagreed, and 
before they concluded, the members of the com- 
mittee had decided that the new granite church 
should be built in Silverton, and, that the work- 
men in the factories of Silverton, — and by the 
way, this same august committee were the prin- 
cipal stockholders in those factories, — should be 
made to pay for its erection. 

Horace Stewart had ijrotested in vain, and 
while he was bound to keep secret the matter dis- 
cussed, he, nevertheless, insisted in withdrawing 
from all active part with his fellow colleagues. 


12 


Silverto7i Folks, 


The business of the evening over, Mr. Went- 
worth invited his visitors to join his wife and 
daughter in the family sitting-room. Only two 
accepted his invitation, the others had pressing 
engagements elsewhere. Horace Stewart had 
been on the point of declining too, but something 
checked the impulse, and x>resently he was fol- 
lowing his host and Mr. Wilbur Maurdant across 
the wide hall. 

Not so gorgeously furnished as the drawing- 
room, the sitting room in the Wentworth man- 
sion was, nevertheless, the snuggest and cosiest 
in the house, and it was deemed a rare privilege 
to be permitted to share for an evening its genial 
pleasantness. When the gentlemen entered, its 
only occupants were Mrs. Wentworth, a hand- 
some lady in the prime of life, and her daughter, 
Evelyn, a beautiful girl of twenty. 

Evelyn Wentworth looked up when the gen- 
tlemen entered the room, and a warm color suf- 
fused her fair face, as her glance met that of 
Horace Stewart. 

“Come, Evelyn, give us some music,’’ said 


Silverton Folks, 


13 


her father, after the first civilities of the evening 
had passed. 

As Evelyn took her place at the piano, Mr. 
Stewart followed her, and began to turn the 
leaves of her music-book. “Oh, never mind, 
Stewart,” interposed Mr. Wentworth. “I want 
Evelyn to give us something from memory ; she 
will not require you to assist her.” 

Evelyn looked surprised at her father’s words, 
while Horace Stewart resumed his seat, with a 
feeling within him, that some sinister meaning 
lay in the words of his host — for though the 
words were harmless enough, the tone was some- 
what offensive. 

Evelyn’s voice was sweet and thrilling, and as 
the words of the sweet old song she had selected, 
— “When other lips and other hearts,” — fell 
sadly on his somewhat wounded feelings, the man 
who loved her fond and truly, wondered vaguely 
if other lips would ever repeat to beautiful Eve- 
lyn Wentworth the tale of love he himself had 
erstwhile told her, for Horace Stewart was the 
acknowledged lover of Mr. Wentworth’s daugh- 


I 


H 


Silverton Folks, 


ter, tliougli, for some unexplained reason, her 
father had not seemed to favor him of late. 

Evelyn noted her father’s clouded brow, when 
his glance rested on her lover, and the sight 
filled the girl’s heart with a nameless i)ain, lend- 
ing an added pathos to her voice, that caused 
Horace Stewart’s heart to vibrate in sympathetic 
accord. He was fast learning now, that he feared 
to lose her, how surely his life’s happiness was 
wrapped up in the keeping of Evelyn Went- 
worth. 

It had begun to dawn upon the unsuspecting 
mind of Horace Stewart of late, that Mr. Went- 
worth was plainly endeavoring to draw out of 
the compact which, though a silent one, had hith- 
erto acknowledged the young man as Evelyn’s 
lover and future husband. And yet, knowing 
this, he had not suffered it to influence him in 
what he looked upon as a matter of conscience 
and principle. He loved his colleague’s daugh- 
ter, and his greatest desire on earth was to win 
her for his wife. He felt in his inward con- 
sciousness that, by his course at the meeting, he 


Silverton Folks. 


15 


had mortally offended Mr. Wentworth ; but he 
would accept even that dire chance, he told him- 
self, and walk apart from sweet Evelyn all his 
life, ere he would aid, by voice or influence, to 
make heavier the burdens of his toiling fellows. 

But listening to her voice the while, in its 
deep pathetic sadness, his heart ached with a 
prophetic fear of the future. 

“Well; belt so,” he inwardly commented, 
he would not retreat from his honest convictions 
even though the price he paid was the total 
destruction of his fondest hopes. 

Meanwhile, Evelyn sang the sweet old song 
to its close, her mother chatting in low tones to 
Mr. Maurdant, who indeed, good man, blun- 
dered now and then in his answers to the lady, 
under the spell of his secret admiration for her 
daughter, while the father sat apart in moody 
silence, casting a glance now and then at his 
young colleague, as if he would fain arrest any 
tender glances passing between the acknowledged 
lovers. 

But the song ended, the constraint lifted from 


i6 


Silverton Folks. 


at least the younger hearts, they all breathed 
freer, and the conversation became general. 

Mr. Maurdant, releasing himself, went over 
and took the seat by Evelyn’s stool. “ You gave 
me great pleasure just now,” he began, in polite 
tones. “Do you know,” he added, looking admir- 
ingly into her soft eyes, “ that you sing with a 
rare sweetness?” Evelyn smiled slightly at the 
comT)liment ; in truth, she knew well enough that 
she possessed a rare voice, and flattering compli- 
ments were no rarity to her case, but just now 
Mr. Maurdant’ s praise seemed but a waste of 
words to her, filled as her heart was with a vague 
unrest. 

Evelyn Wentworth both feared and loved her 
father, for, kind and indulgent parent as he was, 
she yet knew him well enough to feel assured 
that he would deem her feelings in the matter of 
small account if he saw cause for parting her 
from Horace Stewart. 

What marvel then, that Mr. Maurdant' s flat- 
tering speeches fell unheeded on her ear, strained 
as it was to catch the upraised tones of her 


Silverton Folks, 


17 


father’s voice in answer to some remarks of her 
lover % 

Mrs. Wentworth, surprised at the evident 
rudeness of her husband’s manner to their guest, 
wondered what had ruffled his spirits to cause 
him to forget his duties as a host. 

“You should set up at once, Stewart,” he 
was saying ; “but then your judgment may be 
doubted,” he added, with a fine scorn, “and 
with reason, too, if you set yourself up to throw 
censure on your superiors in age and experi- 
ence.” 

“Oh, as far as that goes, I don’t profess to 
set up for any one thing in particular,” answered 
Horace, in some surprise, “although I cannot 
well agree with all you may advance, Mr. Went- 
worth.” 

“And for my part, I should be extremely 
sorry to acquiesce in some of your Quixotic 
views,” returned his polite host, turning impa- 
tiently away. 

Then Mrs. Wentworth to heal the breach 
made an effort, and, succeeding in her laudable 


i8 


Silverton Folks. 


effort, the conversation became general, and har- 
mony seemed restored. But that it was only in 
seeming, at least on Mr. Wentworth’s part, was 
evident to his wife and daughter later in the 
evening, when, after his guests had both left the 
house, he began irascibly, “That conceited ass, 
Stewart, is becoming insufferable.” 

“ Why, Herbert !” said his wife, in some sur- 
prise, “I thought that Horace Stewart was a 
favorite of yours.” 

“You were much mistaken then, my dear, if 
you deemed him a special favorite of mine, 
though hitherto I have seemed to tolorate him at 
the house. And it would be as well for you, 
Evelyn,” he continued, turning to the girl, who 
had listened to his bitter words with a strangely 
sinking heart, “it would be as well for you to 
know, that I will no longer countenance his easy 
familiarity in this house. His attentions to you 
are becoming altogether too pronounced. See 
that you give him no further encouragement ; his 
ambitious pretentions in regard to your hand 
cannot be entertained by you.” And then, as if 


Silverton Folks. 


19 


conscious of the cruelty of his words, he rang the 
bell noisily for his night beverage. 

Evelyn Wentworth listened to her father’s 
cruel words, though she answered him never a 
word. 

In truth, not all her well-bred self-possession, 
Avas powerful enough to aid her to ansAver respect- 
fully to this late command. In her sorely over- 
charged heart, more than one emotion was strag- 
gling for a mastery. It had not been against her 
father’s consent, even though tacitly expressed, 
that she had given her true promise to be the 
wife of the man, whom now, it would seem, she 
was ordered, for no reason that seemed good to 
her, to break faith with, and totally ignore. 

“ See that you give him no further encourage- 
ment !” To the thrilling heart of the girl who 
had given all the love of her warm impassioned 
nature to Horace Stewart, the Avords seemed an 
echo of the finest sarcasm. Not encourage his 
attentions— now, when his attentions had become 
a part of her happiness ; only a few moments ago, 
and her heart had ached at the feeling that his 


20 


Silverton Folks. 


attentions were somewhat strained, and their 
parting had been colder than usual. 

But Evelyn had been brought up in strict 
obedience to her parents, and to hold her 
father’s word as a law in the household ; so now 
she only drooped a little over her clasped hands, 
but a warm color crept slowly over her fine face 
to the roots of her bright waved tresses, and the 
soft curves of her mobile mouth grew into a 
sterner likeness of the smiling mouth in the 
picture that just then looked down into the 
clouded face of her lover himself, in the silence 
of his bachelor chamber. 

‘‘ Stewart always was a self-opinionated fel- 
low,” resumed Mr. Wentworth, when, his bever* 
age, produced and mixed to his liking, he had 
settled himself at ease. ‘‘I thought once, that 
time would change his over-stilted ifiiilanthropic 
views. On the contrary, it has only served to 
make him more set in his radical conceits, 
until now he deems himself competent to pose as 
a shining example to his superiors — and a nice set 
of pampered upstarts he is turning those work- 


Silver ton Folks. 


21 


men of his into, with his insane theory of fair 
wages for fair work ; and now this latest whim 
is the crowning point of all his stubborn freaks. 
But I have not yet told you,” he interrupted 
himself, to remark to his wife, ‘‘ that we have 
decided to have the new church — you will like 
that, I know, Mary,” and he paused a moment to 
watch the effect of his news on his wife, who had 
been, he knew, an earnest supporter of (he agita- 
tion for the new structure. The husband and wife 
were alone. Evelyn had gone to her room. 

“But how is the money to be raised, Her- 
bert ?” questioned his wife. 

“Oh, that’s all settled,” he answered, look- 
ing down into the depths of his empty glass. “ I 
head the list with $20,000, and the others in va- 
rious sums, sufficient to make a respectable 
start.” 

“But is not $20,000 rather a large sum for 
to give, Herbert,” said the somewhat startled 
lady, who knew exactly the extent of their 
income. 

“ Well, it would be, of course,” he answered, 


22 


Silverton Folks, 


with a cynical look in the eyes that were turned 
away from his wife’s face, “ if I proposed to give 
it all myself. But the fact is, Mary,” and he 
turned hastily to note the effect of his informa- 
tion, ‘‘that we propose to tax the work-x^eople 
in the form of a reduction, in order to raise the 
sum needed, and I, as you know, being the lar- 
gest shareholder in the company, must head off 
with a respectable amount.” 

“But I don’t think that I quite understand, 
Herbert,” returned the lady, with a troubled 
look in her soft brown eyes. “Do you mean that 
you x)ropose to comx)el all the workmen indis- 
criminately, to give a XDortion of thmr earnings, 
to help build our church. Why, don’t you think 
that is an extremely unjust measure ?” she con- 
tinued, when his nod had assured her that her 
surmise had been correct. “We, of our church, 
never give to the building of churches of other 
denominations, and why should you compel 
those poor people to help build ours.” 

“O, you put it in a rather curious light, I 
must say, Mary,” he answered. “You and Stew- 


Silverton Folks. 


23 


art seem both alike in your fanciful fears for the 
rights of the work-people, but the whole thing is 
simply a matter of business, and perhaps not to be 
discussed between us amicably,” and he turned 
and took up the evening i^aper. 

Mrs. Wentworth offered no further comment 
on the subject, but her thoughts were sad and 
heavy, as she stitched industriously on Ihe piece 
of fancy work in her lap. The good, wise lady 
knew better than to urge her opposing views on 
her husband. 

Herbert Wentworth loved his wife second 
only to himself, but he never permitted even her 
to rule his opinions in business matters. He 
rather admired her deep religious nature, and 
was wont to smile indulgently at what he termed 
her philanthropic hobbies, but for himself he har- 
bored no such weakness, nor could he see aught 
of injustice to his employees ; in the course he 
had proposed towards them, in fact, he looked 
on himself as a benefactor and supporter of the 
working class, for was not his large capital 
invested in the great factory, which employed 


24 


Silverton Folks, 


the greater number of the working people of 
Silverton ? But he passed over the fact that his 
income had not been decreased by the depres- 
sion in trade ; on the contrary, his dividends had 
increased, while the wages of the workmen had 
been lowered more than once, to meet the depres- 
sion, so that it might be doubted whether Mr. 
Herbert Wentworth’s motives were iDurely un- 
selfish. 


Margery Stewart, 


25 


CHAPTER IL 

MARGERY STEWART. 

I T may have required an effort to carry on a 
conversation in the midst of the deafening 
noise of the rapidly whirling machinery in the 
great factory of the Silverton Bronze Work Com- 
pany ; but that the effort was being made, never- 
theless, was plainly evident to an observer on the 
day after the fact had been made known to the 
hands, that a reduction was to be made in their 
pay, to take place on the first of the forthcoming 
month. 

Now the announcement was all the more sur- 
prising to the hands, as they knew quite well 
that the company’s sales had been even better 
than during the previous years. 

“ I say, boys,” one of the workmen was say- 
ing, as he threaded his fingers through his 

beard, dusty with the clouds of dust whirling 
2 


26 


Margery Stewart, 


around the whole place, “ whatever is the old 
man up to, putting this cut on us, when we can 
scarcel}^ live as it is ? Why, I know, that I find 
it next to impossible to make ends meet, with 
my present wages, and I don’t want to try with 
less.” 

‘‘Well, it looks as though you’ll have to, 
Bob,” answered another, x^hilosophically. “ But 
I guess you’ll have to dock off some of them high- 
priced cigars you’ve been indulging in lately, 
and have to shave yourself.” 

“High-priced cigars!” repeated the other, 
scornfully. “I’ll be lucky if I’m able to keep 
tobacco in my rusty old pipe, after a while, at 
this rate of goipng,” and he set to work with a 
ludicrously doleful whistle. 

“ Cigars, indeed 1” echoed another, amid the 
dim. “ Once a month, is all I ever smell of a cigar. 
But here comes Frank,” he added, “ let’s ask him 
how much the reduction will be, boys 1” And as 
he spoke, a young man of some twenty-five years 
came towards him, and handing him a piece of 
work, said, “ This job is to be done right away, 


Margery Stewart. 


27 


Joe — to complete an order — to be sent off in the 
morning ; let your other work wait and do this.” 

‘•All right,” answered genial Joe; “but, I 
say, Frank, what’s this last cut for, do you know 
— work don’t seem to be dull, does it, now ?” 

“Well,” answered Frank, slowly, “though 
the orders are somewhat slow in coming in, as 
yet, work is not really very dull, and I can’t tell 
you, Joe, what is the cause of the cut down, not 
being in the confidence of the bosses.” And the 
young foreman smiled, as he was turning away. 

“But hold on, Frank,” called out another of 
the men, “how much are we going to be docked 
per day, do you know V’ 

“I don’t, indeed. Miller,” was the answer; 
“but I guess you’ll know soon enough,” and 
this time he proceeded on his way to an upper 
floor. He was passing by the door of the small 
office, devoted to the exclusive use of the super- 
intendent. 

“Come here, Markham,” called out the latter, 
and when the young foreman entered, he, hand- 
ing him a paper, said : 


28 


Mm^gery Stewart, 


“Take this paper, Markham, and send the 
men here to me, one by one, in their turn, as you 
find their names on the list — but stay,’’ he added, 
as the young man was about to leave the room 
on his errand, “ if you glance at the paper, you 
may perceive that your own name heads the 
list,” and he watched the young foreman with a 
grim smile, as he noted the young man glance at 
the sum deducted with an involuntary sigh. 

“It’s rough, Markham, I know,” declared the 
superintendent, “but it can’t be helped, at least 
by us, for I assure you, Frank, that I am cut 
down myself, though perhaps I can afford it much 
better than the men can. However, stay a 
moment, Frank, while I say one thing to you : 
don’t let your well-known sympathy for their real 
or fancied wrongs lead you to give a loud expres- 
sion to your views. Just remember that you and 
I are only the company’s hired employees, paid to 
see their work done, and that is all.” And the 
kindly, well-meaning old man looked keenly in 
the flushed face of his young subordinate. 

“Thanks, Mr. Hichards, but indeed your 


Margery Stewart. 


29 


advice is unnecessary. In the present case, I am 
more than anxious to retain my place here,” and 
he smiled consciously, ‘‘ and so will scarcely say 
or do anything to cause my own dismissal.” 

‘‘That’s all right then — Markham, just send 
up the men ;” and the interview terminated. 

A bitter expression curled the lips of the 
young foreman as he went his way, but it 
changed to a smile of amusement presently at 
the irrepressibly funny remarks of the men, as 
they one by one returned from the presence of 
the superintendent, with full knowledge of the 
extent of their reduced w^ages. 

“ I say, Johnnie, how much are you docked f ’ 
inquired one workman of another. 

“Ten per cent, is the figure, my lad,” was 
the answer, in ludicrous tones ; “no prospects of 
matrimony for this poor chap, this season at 
least.” And the speaker sighed with a depression 
that was not all feigned. 

“Now, I say, what does the company mean. 
I’d like to know,” remarked a third. “The 
sales have been fair enough this year, and I 


30 


Margery Stewart. 


know for certain that the company’s dividends 
were not a cent less than the two last years, and 
here they go cutting us workmen down to the 
lowest possible figure that a man can live on.” 

‘‘Well, I guess you’ll have to make the effort 
to do with that same figure, my lad. But what 
do you think I heard last night % Why, that old 
Wentworth had put his name down on the list of 
contributors to the new church for $20,000 ! 
What do you think of that, boys, and times 
so hard, too and the speaker paused to note 
the effect of his news on his companions. 

“Twenty thousand dollars! Yes, and he’s 
making us fellows pay for it too — while he gets 
all the credit,” declared the workman called Joe. 

“ You’ve hit the nail on the head, Joe, but I 
don’t see how we’re going to help it. Do you ?” 

“Well no, I don’t,” declared Joe, “on the 
principle that ‘ half a loaf is better than no loaf 
at all,’ and a man with a small family, can’t see 
his way to striking out for fields and pastures 
new. But it is hard, mates, nevertheless, to be 
cut down, time and again, only to help build up 


Margery Stewart. 


31 


the social standing and ambition of a few, who do 
none of the labor.” 

“ Religion is a good thing, and necessary for 
ns all,” continued Joe, who was something of an 
orator, “ and 1 for one approve of the building of 
good churches ; but when a man uses his power 
over his workmen, to make them pay for his big 
contribution, I call that style of religion an 
empty sham ; and perhaps you’ll indorse me, 
boys ?” 

“We will, and we do,” was the universal an- 
swer from one and all, as they each returned sol- 
emn-faced to their places of work. 

Now during all their wordy discussion of 
their superior, Frank Markham, the under-fore- 
man, went among them, but his presence among 
them did not deter the men from giving free vent 
to their sentiments ; he, they knew, was true and 
trustworthy, he would report no adverse account 
to his superior and theirs, to the detriment of 
the workmen. 

As boy and man, Frank Markham had spent 
his best years in the employ of the Silverton 


32 


Margery Stewart, 


Manufacturing Co.: as a boy apprentice, and later 
as journeyman mechanic, he had worked his way 
steadily, until, at twenty-five, he held the hard- 
worked, but promising position of assistant- 
foreman, under the superintendent. Saving, per- 
haps, for the wages — somewhat better than that 
of the journeymen — and the prospect of future 
advancement, it might be questioned if the post 
was one to be desired by a high-spirited young 
man — obliged, as he was, to shoulder the blame 
of whatever mistakes or blunders the men might 
make in their work, while the latter joked and 
bantered him on the changing humors of the old 
man, as he styled the superintendent. 

Now Frank was no saint, therefore was some- 
times tempted to throw up his post and seek a 
return to his bench ; but Frank was in love, and 
in that lay the whole secret of his disregard of 
the annoyances of his position. 

Yes, Frank Markham was in love, fathoms 
deep, with the beautiful young sister of one of 
Silverton’s rich men— Horace Stewart ; and this 
was the way of it. 


Margery Stewart . ' 


33 


It was before the days of Frank’s promotion, 
that he, together with another workman, was sent 
to put up a set of new fixtures for the gas-lights 
in Mr. Stewart’s handsome house. 

Mr. Horace Stewart was, as the reader may 
know, a bachelor — but pending a more permanent 
mistress, his fair young sister, Margery, made a 
sweet and graceful substitute ; at least such was 
the opinion of young Frank Markham. The 
young lady had been called in by her indulgent 
brother to view the new chandeliers in the draw- 
ing-room. Both the workmen were struck with 
admiration of her rare beauty and sweet, winning 
manners, but while Rob Hicks forgot the young 
lady as soon as he was out of her presence, her 
fair sweet face remained in the sight of Frank 
during his working hours until he met her again 
in a chance encounter in the street, when a nod 
and sweet smile rewarded him for his days of 
watching, and acknowledged her remembrance of 
him. 

Time passed on, bringing to the young 

mechanic, advancement and increase of pay, and 
2 * 


34 


Margery Stewart. 


from tliat time Frank begun to cherish lovingly 
the secret that, he fondly believed, was known 
only to himself. True, a wide gulf divided the 
social rank of the youiug foreman from the well- 
dowered maiden, who was also one of the lovliest 
girls of Silverton. But Prank was of a sanguine 
nature, and setting full store, as he did, on his 
own powers to win the object of his secret love, 
he told himself, that please Grod, the feat would 
not be an impossible one. 

Meeting now and again, in the somewhat 
mixed society of Silverton, Frank had been 
careful to hide his presumptuous hopes, and yet 
the secret had been learned by the one most con- 
cerned. 

Not many months over eighteen, Margery 
Stewart was no stranger to the admiration of the 
sterner sex, but not all the soft speeches and 
courtly compliments of the gentlemen of her own 
set had caused her heart to flatter for a moment, 
nor her pulses to thrill, as did the glances of 
silent homage, when she encountered the gaze of 
Frank’s grave brown eyes. Ah, tell-tale eyes, 


Margery Stewart. ' 


35 


that had unwittingly betrayed Frank’s secret, 
when they looked into the sweet, fair face 1 

Margery was a lady, high-bred and possessing 
a lady’s highest attribute — modesty. She would 
have resented aught of bold admiration from 
men of any rank, but no feeling of resentment 
entered her mind, when it became plain to her 
that she was beloved by the young mechanic ; 
on the contrary, the knowledge filled her heart 
with a pleasing rapture that she could not quite 
explain to her own satisfaction. 

Their meeting together in hall and assembly 
had grown more frequent as Frank’s social posi- 
tion improved, and his handsome presence and 
pleasing manners made him a general favorite ; 
and still his entrance into her presence caused 
Margery Stewart’s heart to thrill with a pleas- 
urable content, that she was entirely unable 
to explain to her own sense of reason. Mean- 
while Frank cherished in silence his precious 
secret, biding the time that would come, he felt, 
when, with position equal to her own, he might 
venture to ask her to share his lot in life. 


36 


Margery Stewart. 


Horace Stewart loved with a kindly brother’s 
tender love the pretty young sister, who was all 
of kin he owned on earth ; but he sometimes 
wondered how it was that she so steadfastly 
persisted in refusing all offers to share the lot 
of other men, be they ever so rich and handsome ; 
and though he would have been fain to keep her 
with him always, he knew that it would be for 
his petted Margery, a brighter and more satis- 
factory life to become the cherished wife of 
some good man, who would be to her more even 
than a brother, when he himself would have 
brought a mistress to head his table and rule his 
home. 

But Margery laughed, and listened, with 
bright eyes and flushing cheek, when her brother 
teased her on the subject, only asking him, ban- 
teringly, if he was tired of her presence in his 
home, for that if he was, why she could set up 
housekeeping for herself in her own little cottage 
in the suburbs, that had been left to her, a legacy 
from their maternal grandmother. After that, 
her brother held his peace. He would not for the 


Margery Stewart. 


37 


world coerce his sister against her inclinations ; 
and in the meantime, he was quite content to keep 
her for his comfort and solace in his stately bach- 
elor home ; where, indeed, she might long remain 
the only mistress, for it had begun to dawn upon 
the mind of Horace Stewart that his marriage 
with Evelyn Wentworth would be an event in the 
far future. As for giving her up, after he was 
fully assured that he possessed her whole heart, 
the thought never troubled him. To be forced 
to postx^one their union until her father would 
come to see the folly of trying to part them at 
this late day he deemed hard enough — and that 
too, when he had for a whole year been received 
in the Wentw’orth household on the footing of 
a lover and future son-in-law. It was hard, and 
indeed scarcely to be borne, but there was no 
help for it. 

Mr. Wentworth had utterly refused to listen 
to a further discussion of the subject. Evelyn 
herself would not consent to defy her father, 
even if Horace would ask her to begin their lot 
together under such auspices. 


38 


Margery Stewart. 


Not all Ills angry selfisliness could force them 
to cast out their love for each other nor keep 
them from meeting now and then to whisper and 
receive some little word of encouragement to bear 
the hardship of this enforced ^Darting for a time, 
to exchange mute glances that would serve to 
comfort them during the interval and keep alive 
the hope that was their only stay. 

Thus it would seem that Horace Stewart and 
his sister Margery would not be soon parted, 
judging by the course their respective loves ran. 

Evelyn and Margery were friends, and while 
the latter never knew the closeness of the bond 
between her brother and her friend, she yet was 
aware that a tender feeling had existed between 
them ; therefore, she was the more surprised to 
notice the cessation of his visits to the Went- 
worth’s, and the rarity of Evelyn’s visits to 
herself of late. On the other hand, Evelyn, 
while she cherished in secret, a deep feeling of 
angry resentment towards her father for his 
unjust action in the matter, yet could not 
bring herself to criticise her father to others. 


Margery Stewart, 


39 


therefore held her peace and suffered in silence, 
letting her friend think with contempt of her 
fickleness. 

In the tenement houses and cottages of the 
workmen of Silverton, comment was loud and 
outspoken on the subject of the cut-down in 
wages, and the proposed building of the new 
granite church. That the two events coming 
together were somewhat incongruous, was plain, 
and gave rise to the truth of the assertion that 
the workmen were being made to pay for the rich 
men’s contributions — in the bronze factory, at 
least. 

In striking contrast to all the angry discon- 
tent among the hands at the latter’s factory, it 
was noted that no reduction was made in the 
wages of the hands employed in the smaller con- 
cern, presided over by Horace Stewart, and the 
men in the larger factory asked each other some- 
what pertinently how it was, though both did 
the same kinds of work ; but they thought they 
saw the answer when the local paper published 
the list of contributors to the building of the 


40 


Margery Stewart, 


new granite church ; at the head of the list stood 
the name of their employer, Herbert Wentworth, 
twenty thousand dollars, while down at the foot 
they read, Horace Stewart, five thousand dollars. 
“ And that tells the whole story, boys,” said the 
irrepressible Joe. “ And I consider,” he added, 
with a twinkle in his eye, “ that this chap will 
own a brick or two in that costly edifice, and 
may be supposed to get a fr^e seat in it by and 
by.” 

‘‘Oh, no doubt but you’ll get a free seat if 
you desire it, Joe,” replied his chum. Hob, “pos- 
sessing, as ^ you do, such a genius for procuring 
free admittance everywhere. But as far as I’m 
concerned, as I don’t belong to that particular 
persuasion, 1 don’t seem to take much stock in 
owning a brick or two in it.” 

“ A brick or two !” declared another. “ Why, 
my cut-down will go close on to hurting a hun- 
dred dollars a year, and me a Baptist, too. I 
declare it’s a shame, so it is !” 

“ Well, boys,” remarked a steady-headed old 
fellow, who had evidently never discarded the 


Margery Stewart. 


41 


quaint accent of his native Sheffield, “ I don’t go 
for to say, I don’t, as it’s just right to dock us 
fellows out of a part of our earnings, but I do go 
for to say,” and here he faced them all in an 
attitude of anxious inquiry, “how be you going 
for to help it % Just tell me that, boys.” 

But as the boys, old and young, seemed unable 
to answer his query, it remained unanswered, as 
they returned to their respective places, and the 
work of the Silverton Bronze Co. went briskly on ; 
but perhaps a close observer might notice that 
the workmen gave but a half-hearted, attention 
to their business, while their thoughts were 
engrossed, with the subject just then uppermost 
in their minds ; and perhaps the stockholders at 
their next meeting, after the next year’s divi- 
dends would be declared, would be able to answer 
old Tom Robert’s query, when the statendents of 
their traveling agents would be read, and they, the 
stockholders, would learn that Mr. Horace Stew- 
art’s work had far outsold their own, and that the 
reason was given, that the work turned out by 


42 


Margery Stewart. 


the smaller concern had been found to be far 
superior in work and make to their own. 

Meanwhile, the work of commencing to build 
the new church went steadily on, to the satisfac- 
tion of many, and yet to the sorrow of a few old- 
fashioned people, who had worshiped in the 
grim old wooden edifice for more years than the 
new generation could remember. 

‘‘ For it does seem as if it hurt me, to see the 
old church torn down,” remarked an old deacon, 
as he stood among a group, looking at the 
removal of the old building, “and I don’t think 
I’ll ever like the new one as well.” 

“Ah, neighbor,” sighed another, “you and I 
have seen too many ups and downs since the old 
church was built, and we’re getting too near the 
end of the journey to be able to take much com- 
fort in modern improvements, even though it’s to 
be a new temple to God. Somehow,” he added, 
“I sort of wish they’d have let the old church 
alone a while longer, for I don’t believe I’ll ever 
feel to home in a new one, and the old lady, why 
she’ll pine like all possessed, for, you see,” and 


Margery Stewart. 


43 


here the old man’s voice quivered with a sorrow- 
ful meaning, “when the children, our boys, died, 
they were brought into the old church, before 
they were laid to rest behind it.” 

“Ah yes, friend,” sighed the old deacon, 
“the destruction of the old church is sure to 
bring back to us old folks, many a sad remem- 
brance.” 


44 


Racher s Story, 


CHAPTER III. 
eachel’s story. 

OU look tired, Frank,” remarked his 



mother, with an anxious look at her 


son, as he entered their home, on the evening of 
the day the reduction in the wages had been 
announced. 

“And yet I’m not very tired,” he returned, 
forcing a smile, and i:)reparing to sit down to 
supper. 

In truth, Frank was tired, though his strong 
young frame resisted fatigue ; but it was mental 
uneasiness that affected him just now, and the 
proposed reduction had caused it. It would be 
a check to his advancement. For ordinary rea- 
sons he would have cared but little for the 
lowering of his wages, and his mother, he knew, 
with her habits of economy, would have suffi- 
cient. They were secured against want in any 
event, and the lessening of his pay would not- 


Rachers Story. 


45 


incommode her, but here was the cause of his 
weariness of heart : the reduction in his wages 
would retard his progress and cramp his energies, 
and help to further postpone the day when he 
would feel himself justified in offering his love 
to the sister of Horace Stewart. Her love, he 
felt assured in his heart, was his, but somehow 
he never dreamed of trying to win her in. his 
present position. 

Looking at them, as they sat opposite each 
other at their simple evening meal, an observer 
would have said that the mother and son 
strongly resembled each other, even now, 
though perhaps the resemblance had been more 
apparent when they were both younger, for the 
years that had changed the boy’s bright beauty 
into the man’s stern comeliness, had robbed 
Rachel Markham of all but a faded resemblance of 
the entrancing beauty that had once caused more 
than one manly heart to thrill with admiration, 
for in her far-off youth Frank’s mother had been 
famed for her beauty, and though the sorrows of 
years had dimmed the brightness of her dark 


46 


RacheV s Story, 


eyes, and silvered the hair that yet waved 
thickly from off her low, wide brow, where care- 
marks now furrowed its once smooth surface, 
there were still enough traces remaining to cause 
a stranger to turn again and look at the sad- 
faced woman, who seemed to have faded before 
her time. 

Eachel Markham had come to Silver ton 
when her son was a boy of five ; that she was a 
widow, was understood among her neighbors, 
though her unusual reserve of manner kept them 
from questioning her as to her loss. In truth, the 
widow’s story was so fraught with sorrow as to 
render her averse to impart it to strangers ; there- 
fore, she permitted her neighbors to draw what 
inference they would from her reticence, and so 
kept her story to herself. Not even to her son, 
could Rachel Markham say much about her dead 
husband ; her love had been the one jDassion of 
her life, and the wound caused by her great be- 
reavement was, even at this late day, sore to the 
touch. But though Rachel Markham had so Jeal- 
ously guarded the story of her life-long sorrow. 


Racher s Story, 


47 


with the historian’s privilege, we will relate it to 
our reader. 

Frank’s father had come a stranger to her 
native English village, where his wandering fancy 
had been caught by the rare beauty of the rustic 
belle of the village. 

In the eyes of the simple people of the place, 
who were primitive in the extreme, the hand- 
some, elegantly-dressed stranger, was a gentle- 
man, of course ; but then, they did not know, 
these simple villagers, that in his native America, 
culture, and even courtly manners, were a com- 
mon acquirement, even among the working 
classes of the better sort. 

Now the truth was, that Chester Markham, as 
he called himself, was only a well-to-do young 
merchant, in a rather small way, who, being am- 
bitious to rise in his business some day, and 
desiring to further improve his mind and do a 
stroke of business at the same time, had come 
abroad. His trip had been successful, in so far 
that he had procured some valuable orders and 
gained some useful information in the line of his 


48 


Rachel' s Story. 


trade, so that lie deemed it but a well-earned 
holiday to stop on liis journey homeward, to 
spend a passing week or so in this pretty way* 
side village. 

It had only been a freak of Chester Mark- 
ham’s natural self-indulgence. But it was fated 
to be the event of Rachel Elton’s life, for from 
the first, the good-looking stranger seemed bent 
on winning her love, which indeed, was not long 
withheld, for his honeyed speeches and hand- 
some bearing possessed in the eyes of the simple 
maiden a subtle charm that all the adoring 
attentions of the village swains had failed to 
impress her with. 

That Rachel Elton saw nothing but perfection 
in her foreign-born suitor, was soon evident to 
himself, at least, when one chill autumn morning, 
they stood together in the simple village church, 
and were made man and wife. 

Three short months of almost perfect happi- 
ness,— not much to last one for a lifetime, — and 
yet, that was all that came to the lot of- the 
pretty village belle, ere she awoke to the utter 


Racher s Story, 


49 


desolation that was to be her position hence- 
forth. 

Three short months of sweet content, and then 
Rachel heard, through dazed senses, that the hus- 
band she almost worshiped, was dead — drowned in 
the river that flowed past their picturesque ham- 
let. 

Only that morning he had left her with a ten- 
der caress, and a laughing farewell, to take a sail 
on the river, which he had formed quite a fancy 
for doing of late. That the habit proved a dis- 
astrous one in the end, was sadly evident, when, 
later in the morning, the little sail boat was found 
bottom upwards, and no trace remaining of its 
occupant ; nor was the least trace ever found, 
although the most diligent search was kept up as 
long as hope remained. 

That the body had drifted out to sea with the 
tide, was the belief of the villagers — all but one 
old fisherman. Jack Waters by name ; he shook 
his head but said nothing. For some time that 
morning he had stood on the little prominence in 
front of his cabin looking eagerly through his 


50 


RacheV s Story, 


well-used spy-glass. More than one of his mates 
had looked out to see what attracted the old man. 
True, they caught a passing glimpse of a distant 
craft bearing out to sea, but they missed the lit- 
tle scene that was enacted at its side, just before 
the sail-boat drfted homeward with its mute, sad 
tale. 

It had been an almost impossible task to per- 
suade poor Rachel that her husband was dead, 
although the evidence was plain to everyone else ; 
but as time passed on, and no trace of even his 
lifeless body was found, the poor young wife was 
forced to take up her burden of sorrow and live 
her desolate life as best she could. 

As she was the only daughter of a well-to-do 
man for that section, she was not in want, and 
when her little child came, she aroused herself 
from her unavailing grief, and resolved to devote 
herself to her fatherless little son. 

Thus for five long, sad years, Rachel Mark- 
ham lived her life in her father’s home, caring 
only for her little son and his father’s memory, 
which she kept fresh and green in her stricken 


Racher s Story. 


51 


heart, by her constant sight of the waters, the 
cruel waters, which she fully believed had drawn 
him down to death in its fathomless depths. 

But at the end of the five years her father 
died, leaving her his little patrimony. Then 
Rachel perfected a resolve that had grown up in 
her heart until it had come to be a longing with 
her. She would leave the place where every 
sight and sound reminded her of her short spell 
of happiness, and also of her irreparable loss. 

Without consulting any of the tried friends, 
who would have helped her with their counsel, 
she turned all her little possessions into ready 
money, and bade farewell to the home of her 
youth and girlhood, and, with only her fatherless 
boy for company, set her face for the New 
World — the country that had been the home of 
him who even yet could not be remembered with- 
out a bitter wave of regret, and whose bones were 
whitening now, she told herself, beneath the 
surging waves over which she must pass to reach 
his native land. 

And thus it was that the widow had come 


52 


Rachel's Story. 


with her little child, to dwell in this pretty out- 
of-the-way manufacturing city, where she soon 
found employment wherewith to eke out the 
slender hoard that was her all, until her son 
would be able to help her and himself. 

That the boy had proved worthy of all her 
patient toil in his behalf, we have seen in the 
j)retty home where he now provided all the com- 
forts, and many little luxuries, and if anything 
on earth could render Rachel Markham perfect 
content and happiness, it would be hers now, in 
the possession of her son’s love and care. 

True, her sorrow was buried in the silence of 
her heart ; rarely, if ever, exposed even to the 
gaze of her son ; but it was nevertheless a part of 
her existence. She had been a wife but a pass- 
ing season, but the face of her handsome young 
husband, gay and smiling, as she last beheld it 
on that summer morning long ago, was ever 
before her, in her dreams, sleeping or waking. 

We have said that the mother and son bore a 
rather strong resemblance to each other, and 
strangely enough, this very fact was a cause of 


Rachel's Story. 


53 


grief to E-achel ; lier one strong hope had been 
that her boy would grow to look like his father, 
so that in him she might behold the semblance of 
her lost husband, and in this hope she had been 
sorely disappointed. True, she was sometimes 
startled when the quick sound of his voice 
reminded her of another voice long stilled, and 
in the swift uplifting of his singularly beautiful 
brown eyes, she recalled a peculiarity of her 
early lost husband ; and there the resemblance 
ended, for Rachel was compelled to own to her- 
self that Frank, saving some slight discrepancies, 
was only a younger and handsomer edition of the 
honest farmer, her late father, who, indeed, poor 
man, had never styled himself gentleman. 

Rachel had never possessed a likeness of her 
son’s father, so that Frank had only his mother’s 
partial description to lead him in his knowledge 
of what his young father had been, but being, 
as he was, but a hearsay remembrance to his son, 
the latter had spent but a scant regret for his loss, 
except indeed, when he now and then found him- 
self casting a reproachful blame to that same dead 


54 


RacheP s Story. 


parent, for the latter’s unaccountable reticence, in 
regard to his family or place of abode in his na- 
tive land, thus leaving to his stricken wife, no 
record of either, and to him, his son, only a hear- 
say memory of the father who had not even 
known of his existence. 

It had been the mother’s ambition to make 
Frank a gentleman, and to that end, she would 
have toiled and worked to keep him at school, 
but for the boy’s own strong resistance to what 
he, in his clear young honesty, termed the injus- 
tice of it, and so she was fain to let him seek for, 
and procure the rather humble i)ost of junior 
apprentice in the Silverton Manufacturing Co. 

Now Frank Markham, although not by any 
means a goody boy, was yet stanch in the line 
of his chosen duty ; therefore, he soon gained the 
good will of his superiors, and that too, without 
incurring the enmity of the workmen, a fact that 
our readers will, perhajDS, agree with us in saying 
is seldom if ever accomplished in American 
work-shops. 

Rachel Markham had suffered a pang of dis- 


Racher s Story. 


55 


appointment, when her boy refused to be made a 
gentleman at the cost of his mother’s ease, and 
had only acquiesced to his decision, when she 
could not do otherwise ; but now she began to 
exult in his prospects, and to build up hopes in 
his future advancement to the rank to which, she 
believed, his father had belonged — the business 
aristocracy of America. 

No doubt our readers will say that it was but 
a poor ambition for a mother to cherish for her 
only son, and so indeed it was, but Rachel Mark- 
ham had never been a pious woman, and there- 
fore all her ambitions were earthly. If ever the 
thought of her dead husband dwelling in eternity 
crossed her thoughts, it was but a dim and hazy 
fancy, and it made her life-long desolation all 
the more pathetic, that all her thoughts of him 
were of their swift, sudden parting, and never of 
their possible reunion. He had, she well remem- 
bered, but slight reverence for things holy, and 
that knowledge had tended to deaden within her 
whatever gleam of religious feelings had dwelt in 
her heart in her far-off girlhood. It was the man 


56 


RacheVs Story, 


in his splendid, in her eyes, manly beauty, that 
she had worshiped. He had been removed from 
her sight before one word of slight or coldness 
from his handsome smiling lips had fallen on her 
ear, to chill the hero-worship she gave him. In 
her eyes, he had been all that noble manhood 
imiDlies, and thus she held his memory in her 
heart. 

In saying that Frank Markham had won the 
good will of his superiors, we must except the 
most influential of them all— Mr. Wentworth 
himself. That gentleman, while finding no rea- 
son to dislike the young man, had nevertheless 
disliked him from the first time he met the glance 
of his grave brown eyes, and the dislike had 
grown to almost repulsion as the years went on. 

Frank’s advancement brought him more in 
contact with the head of the concern, who could 
never agree with his colleagues as to Frank’s 
worth and usefulness to the company. And this 
repulsion was so utterly unaccountable to the 
gentleman himself, that he never uttered a word 
of dispraise of the young foreman who seemed 


Rachel's Sio7y. 


57 


so fearless of his praise or blame. No cause of 
antagonism had as yet arisen between them, and 
yet, strangely enough, the widow’s son had 
always avoided meeting the head of the company 
in which he steadily sought advancement. Some- 
thing within him shrank from contact with the 
handsome elderly gentleman, whose smooth brow 
was apt to be suffused with an angry frown when 
he encountered the fearless glance of Frank’s 
eyes. 

While never cringing nor humble, and always 
alive to the best interests of his fellow workmen, 
the young foreman had nevertheless set himself 
from his first entrance into the factory to master 
the intricacies of the trade in all its details, 
added to which he had cultivated a talent for 
improvement that rendered him an invaluable 
aid to the company ; and yet, in spite of all this, 
Mr. Wentworth’s lip would curl with a sort of 
bitter scorn when he listened to the young man’s 
praises at the frequent meetings of the company, 
and it was, in a great measure, owing to the great 
3 * 


58 


Rachers Story. 


man’s evident dislike, that Frank’s progress had 
been retarded hitherto. 

Something of tliis had come to the young 
man’s knowledge, causing him to lay up a sense 
of injustice to himself from the rich man, so 
secure in his own high position. 

And as the mother and son kept no secrets 
from each other, excepting, perhaps the one of 
Frank’s love, he had frequently detailed to her 
the fact of Mr. Wentworth’s ill-disguised aver- 
sion to himself. 

Now, loving her son as only a widowed mother 
with an only son can love her child, and with 
full confidence in his ability to win other admi- 
ration than her own, Kachel Markham listened 
to his recital of Mr. Wentworth’s strange dis- 
like of him with varied feelings, the strongest 
of which was one of indignation, that her son 
should receive such a return from the man he 
served so well and honestly. And feeling thus, 
it was no wonder that an angry dislike of the 
offending gentleman grew up in her heart, and 
a longing to meet her enemy, as she termed him, 


RacheV s Story, 


59 


became a desire and an ardent wish. At that 
Frank only laughed, and asked her if she medi- 
tated bearding the head of the Silverton Manu- 
facturing Company, in his den, the office. 

“No,” she answered. She could scarcely go 
deliberately into his presence, with no other 
pretext than to ask him why he so disliked 
her son. But, nevertheless, the desire to see 
and know him became a strong desire to her, 
until she planned within herself how she could 
meet him face to face— the man who, it seemed 
to her, was her son’s enemy. 


6o 


I 

i 

The Ladies Meeting, 


CHAPTER IV. 

THE ladies’ meeting. 

M onth after month went by, and the sea- 
son had changed again and again, ere 
the beautiful white granite structure was near- 
ing completion. And yet not for the lack of the 
necessary funds either, for the rich men had 
come forward liberally with renewed contribu- 
tions. The fault of the delay lay rather in the 
divided tastes of the different proprietors, who 
now and then interj)osed in the progress of the 
work; but at length the outer walk was com- 
pleted, and nothing remained but to furnish the 
interior — a work which, by common consent, was 
delegated to the ladies of the congregation. 

And this it was that had caused them to 
assemble in such numbers, in the temporarily 
furnished meeting -room of the new church. 

After some preliminaries, the meeting was 
organized into a society, to be styled “The 


The Ladies Meeting. 


6l 


Church Furnishing Society,” with Mrs. Herbert 
Wentworth as the presiding officer. 

Various plans were offered and discussed gen- 
erally by the ladies, until at length the most 
feasible one, a refreshment festival, was offered 
and adopted by the united voice of the assembly, 
and we may add that the proposed festival 
caused the hearts of the ladies — old and young — 
to flutter with pleasurable emotion. 

The mothers and wives discussed the enliven- 
ing i)art of the coming festival, with generous 
promises of substantial contributions of well- 
cooked dainties and toothsome viands, to furnish 
the tables, while the young ladies were each 
given a place where their youthful attractions 
and active ability would tend to the pecuniary 
success of the enterprise. 

When the most pressing business of the pro- 
posed festival was arranged, for the present, at 
least, the meeting adjourned, and the ladies 
gathered in groups and sets, to enjoy a social 
chat over that, some times, harmless pastime, 
local gossip. 


62 


The Ladies Meeting. 


“ How splendidly generous of your husband, 
my dear Mrs. Wentworth,” exclaimed gushingly 
a rather young-looking matron, as she drew a 
seat nearer to the side of the elder lady, “ to give 
such a magnificent sum in the first place, and 
then to add to it later, while now he promises to 
help us ladies to furnish it. Why, I declare,” 
she continued volubly, “ his generosity is enough 
to make some of the others feel shame, of their 
own insignificant figures, along side of his — ” 
and here the speaker was forced to pause to take 
breath. 

“I must say, Mrs. Moore,” replied the elder 
lady, whose husband the rapid speaker had 
lauded so flatteringly, “ I must say that I cannot 
take your view of the matter. Don’t you think,” 
she continued, while a slight flush overspread her 
gentle countenance, “that the gentlemen them- 
selves are the best judges of what they could 
give to the church ? And you know,” and here she 
smiled kindly in the face of her thoughtless 
young companion, “ that it is not the amount we 
give that wins reward, but the spirit in which we 


The Ladies Meeting. 


^3 


give it, and the motive % — so that you see, my dear, 
it would be quite unjust of us to find fault with 
what others may deem best to offer of their 
means. They evidently contributed according to 
their means, as I said before.” 

‘‘According to their means! Why, Mrs. 
Wentworth, you quite amuse me,” declared the 
younger lady, with a sarcastic smile. “Do try to 
recall to your mind the amount of Mr. Horace 
Stewart’s contribution — just five hundred dollars, 
and then remember the extent of his business, 
and the style he keeps up in that elegant house 
of his.” 

Gentle Mrs. Wentworth shrank visibly from 
her outspoken neighbor, as she replied to her 
sweeping remarks : 

“ For myself, I don’t pretend to know the ex- 
tend of Mr. Horace Stewart’s income, nor have I 
observed that he assumes an unusual style in the 
home he has made so brght and comfortable for 
his motherless young sister. Bat this I do 
know,” and here the gentle lady’s voice was 
slightly raised in the heat of defending her fav- 


64 


The Ladies Meeting, 


orite, “ that Horace Stewart is too manly and 
honorable to do a mean thing, and he must, 
therefore, have acted in strict accordance with 
his conscience in the matter of his donation to 
the church.” 

“While I for one, am ready to indorse your 
opinions as regards Mr. Stewart’s generosity,” 
interposed another lady, who had been placed in 
too close proximity to the speakers, to remain a 
silent spectator, “and as an instance, just let me 
relate something I have heard about him to-day. 
You know our hired girl, Mary. Well, she has 
a brother, a man with a rather large family, not 
one able to help support themselves, and the wife 
is sickly too, to make matters worse. Well, the 
man himself, who has been steady and industri- 
ous hitherto, has been laid up for over two 
months, with a sort of malarial fever, and has 
been unable to work. Of course, their small sav- 
ings, even with what poor Mary has been able to 
lend them, has been insufficient to meet their 
pressing wants, and they were almost at their 
wits’ ends to know what they were going to do, 


The Ladies Meeting. 


65 


when a few evenings ago, Mr. Horace Stewart, — 
Mary’s brother worked for him, yon must know, 
— called on the i^oor people, and paid Tom every 
cent of wages, for the time he had been unable to 
work, and besides assured him that his job was 
all right when he could come back to work. Now 
that is what 1 call first-class generosity,” con- 
cluded the lady, flashing a defiant glance at 
young Mrs. Moore. 

“I don’t care in the least,” declared that 
stubborn person, ‘‘ what you say of his common- 
place charity, I will maintain, that it was quite 
small of Mr. Horace Stewart to put his name 
down in the list of contributors, for such a paltry 
sum as five thousand dollars — so there !” and the 
irate lady arose hastily from her chair, and 
sauntered towards one of the other groups of 
ladies. 

“I fear we have offended her,” remarked 
Mrs. Wentworth uneasily, looking after the 
retreating figure. 

“Well, and if we have, I for one don’t regret 
it,” returned the other, airily. “Our young 


66 


The Ladies Meeting. 


friend would be the better of a much-needed 
reproof now and then. Why, the idea of call- 
ing Horace Stewart mean. I just could not stand 
it tamely,” and the warm-hearted lady flushed all 
over her fair, good-looking face. “ Knowing as I 
do of his many kindnesses to Charlie’s patients — 
that is, the poorer ones.” 

‘‘Yon can tell me nothing in Mr. Stewart’s 
favor, that will surprise me, or that will add to 
the esteem in which I hold him,” returned the 
elder lady, “biit our friend, Mrs. Moore, has not 
perhaps had the opportunity of knowing him as 
we have, you know,” and Mrs. Wentworth smiled 
Kindly in the flushed face of her young friend. 

“ Then don’ t you think, Mrs. Wentworth, that 
she might refrain from judging him so scorn- 
fully,” persisted the lady, whose own sympathies 
were apt to be largely enlisted in defense of her 
favorites. 

“ It is foolish, and sometimes unkind, to judge 
indiscriminately,” assented the elder lady ; “ but 
in the case of our young friend, I rather think 


The Ladies Meeting. 


67 


tliat she says more than she really means, and 
does not intend to do Mr. Stewart an injustice.’’ 

“Ah, my dear Mrs. Wentworth,” returned 
her companion, “it would be as well for all of us 
to be able to think as leniently of our offending 
neighbors as you are ; but I am selfish, ]perhaps, in 
my championship of Mr, Horace Stewart, for you 
must know that it was his kind and valuable 
friendship that enabled Charles to form his pres- 
ent large and lucrative practice.” 

Young Mrs. Dr. Murrey was partly right 
when she said that it was to Horace Stewart’s 
valuable friendship her husband owed his in^es- 
ent steady position. Mrs. Murrey had been the 
only daughter of one of Silverton’s richest men, 
and might have wedded with the best in her 
native town, but she had turned from them all to 
give her fair white hand and future fortune into 
the keeping of the struggling young doctor, who 
had come a stranger to the place, with nothing 
but his handsome presence, and, as yet, untried 
skill, to recommend him to the good will of the 
people of Silverton. But fortune favored him. 


68 


The Ladies Meeting. 


through his successful treatment of several dan- 
gerous cases, and his daring skill soon made him 
a general favorite among all classes. 

It was at the house of one of his poorer 
patients that he met Mr. Horace Stewart, and, 
each recognizing an old school-mate, a warm 
friendship soon sprang up between them, which 
had never waned in the years that followed. 

Of course, the friendship of such a man as 
Mr. Stewart won for the young doctor an easy 
entrance into the. society of Silverton, that all his 
successful skill would have failed to secure for 
him, for some years at least, and then it was that 
he won for his wife the daughter of one of his 
patrons, who, indeed, only acquiesced in the 
arrangement, because he shrewdly guessed that 
his willful young daughter would wed no other 
than the man of her choice. 

It followed that Doctor Murrey and his wife 
entertained a warm liking for the man who had 
brought them together, and had been their 
steady friend, and hence the lady’s somewhat hot 
defense of her favorite. 


The Ladies Meetmg, 


69 


Not far away from the previous speakers 
stood a group of young girls, among whom was 
Evelyn Wentworth herself. They had been dis- 
cussing their respective parts in the coming fes- 
tival, but it could not have been that subject that 
had called up the conscious color to suffuse her 
fair sweet face. Ah, no ! quite unwittingly she 
had caught the sound of her lover’s name uttered 
in the irate tones of his fair detractor, and then 
it was impossible to shut her ears to what fol- 
lowed. Her Horace mean ! and something as 
near approaching a frown as her sweet face could 
assume, clouded her brow for the moment at the 
thought, but her heart fluttered with a grateful 
feeling as she heard Mrs. Murrey’s indignant 
defense of the absent gentleman, and she longed 
to embrace her on the spot. Meanwhile, the 
pleasant moments sped on, and the ladies chat- 
ted socially, finding ample material for their 
talk in the rumors and reports of the doings of 
the people of their set. But to all of this Evelyn 
Wentworth gave but a divided attention ; her 
thoughts were almost wholly engaged with her 


70 


The Ladies Meeting. 


lover, who, it seemed, had been so unfairly 
judged by some who took no trouble to question 
the honesty of his motives. But that he was 
honest and conscientious to the core Evelyn was 
fully assured, and a little wave of scorn flitted 
over her smooth brow, as she wondered how any 
one in their senses could doubt him. 

But Evelyn quite forgot that all could not 
judge him with her lover eyes, and that Mrs. 
Moore’s foolish speech often heralded more than 
her heart prompted. 

And not Evelyn’s fair cheek alone had 
glowed with the suppressed effort to resist the 
inclination to defend her lover’s wrongfully 
aspersed name. 

Margery Stewart herself had heard it all, and 
it took all her best effort to quell her rising 
indignation, so it might be questioned whether 
Horace Stewart’s well wishers were in the mi- 
nority. 

How, while Mrs. Wentworth, with her gentle 
tolerance, that was her chief characteristic, was 
striving to stem the torrent of Mrs. Murrey’s 


The Ladies Meeting. 


71 


righteous wrath, and induce that lady to forget 
Mrs. Moore’s thoughtless sayings, a pair of keen, 
dark eyes were closely observing her, and the 
owner of those same eyes was none other than 
Mrs. Markham, Fraink’s mother. 

Though not a member of the church, Mrs. 
Markham was one of a numerous class, who, 
while declining to make open profession of their 
beliefs or disbeliefs, yet make a practice of 
attending the services of some particular place of 
worship. 

And to this class, as well as the members, the 
call to attend the meeting had been given. Of 
course, it would be necessary to enlist the services 
of all to make the festival a success, and to this 
end, all difference in social rank was, for the 
time at least, overlooked, and a suave equality 
reigned, that would have charmed a stranger, 
but that did not in the least deceive the work- 
men’s wives and daughters, who indeed, knew 
quite well that their lady patrons would scarcely 
notice them by-and-by — but that, being accord- 


72 


The Ladies Meeting, 


ing to the order of things, was accex)ted philoso- 
phically, with little or no comment. 

As the mother of the rising young foreman, 
Mrs. Markham was treated with a degree of 
courtesy, that perhaps a genuine worthiness 
would have failed to win ; but that passed quite 
harmlessly over the head of the woman, who, 
indeed, had but attended the meeting to serve a 
purpose of her own. 

As we have said before, Mrs. Markham had 
for some time cherished a deep resentment for 
the head of the company who employed her 
son, called into her heart b}^ the unreasonable 
aversion of Mr. Wentworth towards her son. 

And from this resentment had grown up a 
longing to behold the man, who, without the least 
known cause, could so dislike her boy. 

Therefore the reader will not be surprised 
that the most pressing business of the meeting 
held not half the interest for Frank’s mother, as 
did her close observance of the sweet benevolent 
face of Mr. Wentworth’s wife. 

Though apparently women of about the same 


The Ladies Meeting. 


73 


age, perliaps no greater contrast could be formed, 
than the wife of Mr. Wentworth and his young 
foreman’s mother. 

In their far-off girlhood days had the two 
stood side by side, most men would have passed 
by the gentle, ladylike girl to look with a thrill 
of admiration at the sparkling beauty of the vil- 
lage maiden. 

But like their type of beauty had been their 
lives, and indeed their natures. 

To the rich man’s daughter had come the ful- 
fillment of her chosen destiny, and to her had 
remained the ease and affluence to which she had 
been bred. If she had a wish denied, it was 
explained, when she stood sometimes looking 
sadly down at the small graves where her baby 
boys slept. Sometimes her reverent nature had 
been shocked when evidences of her husband’s 
disbelief in sacred things came more plainly to 
the surface, and more than once she had ventured 
a gentle remonstrance when he exhibited more 
than his usual disregard of the well-being of his 
less favored fellow-men. 


4 


74 


The Ladies Meeting, 


But he was the one lover of her life, the father 
of her sweet Evelyn, and those fair boys in 
Heaven. His faults were glossed over in her par- 
tial eyes by the habitual tenderness of his man- 
ner towards her, and her knowledge of his strong 
devotion for her during the long years of their 
life together. 

No doubt this tranquilly satisfied life had 
tended to impress that sweet, benevolent expres- 
sion and the kindly face that had never yet met 
one glance of aversion or contempt. 

On the contrary, Hachel Markham’s life had 
been one long sorrow, ever since the day, long 
ago, when they told her that her young husband 
was lost beneath the cruel waves. Perhaps, had 
she been permitted to look upon his dead face 
and seen him laid to rest in the earth, her grief, 
though intense enough at the time, would have 
grown into a resigned submission to the will of 
God. But he had gone out of her sight for- 
ever with a gay smile and a bantering caress, and 
the shock of his loss had not even yet left her 
wounded heart, even after all those years. 


The Ladies' Meeting, 


75 


Thus it was that years of enforced submis- 
sion to her desolate lot, made imperative through 
her desire to spare her boy from the knowledge 
of his mother’s secret sorrow, had banished all 
brightness from her once beautiful countenance. 
For all her forty-five years, the hair that waved 
so prettily on Mrs. Wentworth’s yet smooth 
brow was yet untinged with gray, while, on the 
other hand, Mrs. Markham’s severely-smoothed 
back locks were white as snow. 

Well, Frank’s mother had found it difficult to 
meet face to face with her son’s enemy — as she 
had come to term Mr. Wentworth. Strangely 
enough, too, as it may seem, and they both, 
though somewhat irregular, attendants at the 
same place of worship ; but she looked upon it 
as perhaps the next best thing to look upon his 
wife, who now looked up a little uneasily to meet 
the keen glance of the woman’s sad, dark eyes, as 
4;hey scanned her so curiously. 

‘‘A¥ho is that sad-looking lady in black?” 
she ventured to inquire of her friend, Mrs. Mur- 
rey. ‘‘ She seems to be a stranger.” 


76 


The Ladies Meeting, 


“Oh, no,” returned the lady. “ She is one of 
us, though not a church member. Why, don’t 
you know her, Mrs. Wentworth? She is young 
Frank Markham’s mother.” 

“ Frank Markham’s mother ! Then she is the 
mother of that very troublesome young man, the 
very mention of whose name was quite enough to 
irritate Herbert,” mused Mrs. Wentworth ; but 
she made no mention of the strange fact to her 
neighbor, who soon forgot the subject in the 
plentitude of other topics. 

Meanwhile, Mrs. Markham had glanced fur- 
tively now and then at the lady whose destiny 
had been so differently apportioned from her 
own, watched the fair placid face with a jealous 
feeling and envious pain that even to herself was 
unaccountable, for surely, as she told herself, 
Mr. Wentworth’s wife could scarcely be blamed 
for her husband’s likes or dislikes. And yet, in 
spite of all her reasoning, the feeling remained,, 
and lent an expression of ill-concealed scorn to 
the dark eyes, that would single out her enemy’s 
wife from all the other ladies, to the slight 


The Ladies Meeting. 


77 


annoyance of that lady, who wondered vaguely 
how she could have so attracted the stranger’s 
attention. 

Rachel Markham had borne her great sorrow, 
because she could not help herself. She had 
been brought up to a form of worship, and to 
believe in, and fear God ; but her religion had 
never served to help her in her troubles, nor to 
sustain her in her bitterest disappointments. She 
had done her best in outward seeming to bring 
her son up to the observance of a Christian life, 
but in her heart a cold endurance took the j)lace 
of patient resignation to God’s will. And for 
this unhappy state, she was largely indebted to 
the man who had for so short a season shed 
brightest sunshine on her path. She had made 
him an idol, and he had imprinted on her impres- 
sive nature something of his own lack of faith 
and trust in a Higher power. 

Mrs. Wentworth, good lady, would have been 
shocked to the heart to know of such a want of 
trust in one already bereaved enough, as the 
widow must be. She herself, good lady, had 


78 


7"he Ladies Meeting. 


held through all her life a perfect belief and 
tender trust in her heavenly Father, and nothing 
that this life could bring to her of joy or sorrow 
could weaken her trust. 

True, her gentle heart was pained now and 
then, by her husband’s thoughtless sneers, at 
what he termed her sentimental notions of relig- 
ion, but she believed him true and sound at 
heart, and hoped with a strong confidence that he 
would yet come to her way of thinking. Thus it 
will be seen that these two women, — both mothers, 
as they were, — were yet widely different in every- 
thing but the one of their maternal love for 
their children. 

And yet, though one of them, at least, would 
never know it, their fates in life had crossed, and 
the dark sorrow of the one had lent to the other 
her tranquil, happy life. 

Meanwhile, the appointed time had come to a 
close, and the ladies broke up their conference, 
well satisfied with the result of their meeting. 


The Minister must go. 


79 


CHAPTER Y. 

THE MINISTER MUST GO. 

T he new granite church of Silverton was 
complete at last, and as it stood grand and 
stately, fronting the principal street of Silverton, 
people stopped, in passing, to admire its archi- 
tectural beauty. 

Nor was the interior wanting in the grandest 
touches of art that wealth and taste could bring, 
and could their Puritan ancestors but look down 
on their descendants, as they met to worship in 
this grand structure, they, the Puritan ancestors, 
would have no doubt stood aghast with horror 
and amaze, as they viewed the startling innova- 
tion in the manner of the worship of their 
descendants. 

They would have looked at architectural 
carvings, carefully copied from the works of the 
old masters of art, men whom, they, in their 


8o 


The Minister must go. 


harsh asceticism, had termed Saint-worshipers, 
and idolaters. 

Blit the Puritan ancestors were dead and gone, 
and their doctrines, that they had braved the 
rigor of the inhospitable New World to leave 
unsullied to their children, had been, since then, 
remodeled and made to suit the more enlightened 
and less rigorous taste of their descendants. 

Therefore, where once the worshipers sat in 
harsh solemnity, chanting discordant melody 
from untrained voices, -their well-dressed descend- 
ants sat comfortably on velvet-cushioned seats, 
their attention divided between the various 
objects of attraction presented before them, and 
the cultured strains of the artistic vocal and 
instrumental music of the highly-paid choir. 

But when the Reverend John Winters stood 
up to speak the words of instruction to them, 
some among the congregation, — and they were, if 
not the most devout, at least the most influential 
of the pew-holders,— said to themselves, as 
they looked up at the plain-looking, but earnest- 


The Minister must go. 


8i 


voiced man, who stood before them, he is out of 
place here in our new church — he must go. 

The Reverend John Winters had been all very- 
well in the plain, old church, where eloquence 
and a handsome presence had not been deemed a 
necessity of the minister’s belongings. But here 
it was entirely different. The preacher, to fit into 
that grand reading-desk, must be of stately pres- 
ence, and his voice must have force and volume 
to reach the confines of the arching dome of this 
grand, new structure, — and so the i^resent minister 
must go. 

The Reverend John Winters had ministered 
to the spiritual wants of his congregation for 
many years, and was yet in the height of his 
vigor when he took his place in the new church. 
He had always been one of the first to encourage 
and further the project of its completion, though 
his knowledge of his people convinced him, that 
his usefulness among them would be at an end, 
when that object would be accomplished. 

Yes, he had done all in his power to further 
the completion of the new church, although in so 
4 * 


82 


The Minister must go. 


doing he had, — to borrow the words of a facetious 
member, — but helped to weave a rope for his own 
hanging ; for it was whispered now quite freely, 
and not in the lowest whispers either, that the 
congregation of the new granite church would be 
apt to dispense with the services of the x^resent 
pastor at the end of the term. 

Mr. Winters heard the whisper, of course, 
though it must be allowed that the voice that 
repeated it to him was not the lowest in Silver- 
ton. But the news did not startle the pastor in 
the least ; it only confirmed what he had feared 
all along— and we say feared, in the sense that he 
disliked the prospect of being obliged to leave 
the place that had been his home so long, while 
he could not regret leaving a people who, it 
would seem, desired his services no longer. 

You see, the Reverend Mr. Winters was a 
plain man, given to be somewhat candid in the 
manner of explaining to his people his views of 
what he considered their duty to God and their 
neighbor. Aye, even more than that ; he had 
more than once been heard to reprove some of 


The Minister must go. 


83 


the wealthiest members for the laxity of their 
belief — forgetting, short-sighted man, that to 
them he owed largely the stipend wherewith he 
was enabled to keej) in comfort the little band at 
home. 

But then, on the other hand, Mr. Vv^inters 
had embraced the service of the ministry to serve 
God according to his light, and in the hope of 
winning souls to his Master, and not with the 
hope of lucrative gain. Therefore, he never 
stopped to weigh his words when he deemed 
reproof necessary, to even the richest of his 
flock, and not even Mr. Wentworth himself 
could awe him from the fulfillment of his chosen 
duty. 

And so, Mary, we must go,” he said to his 
wife, one evening, after the departure of the com- 
mittee who had been commissioned to notify the 
minister of the decision of the members had 
departed. 

‘‘Yes,” he continued, in answer to her excla- 
mation of surprise. ‘ ‘ The members have declared 
that I am too plain and old-fashioned to suit the 


84 


The Minister must go. 


requirements of their modern taste, and of course 
we must admit that they are the best judges of 
what they require in a preacher.” 

“Oh John, I am so very sorry to know that 
we must leave Silverton, and just as I had begun 
to feel that I was going to be permitted to stay 
near mother in her weak state.” 

“Yes,” he replied with a suppressed sigh, 
looking out of the open window. ‘‘ That makes 
it hard for you, Mary, I know. But then,” he 
added, turning to look into her anxious counte- 
nance, “you know, Mary, that you risked all 
that when you agreed to share my lot.” 

“ Why, yes, John,” she said, with a tender lit- 
tle smile, “and I should have been quite broken- 
hearted had I not been t)ermitted to share your 
lot, dear ; and as for leaving Silverton, indeed I 
would not mind it in the least, if it were not for 
mother, who, in her delicate health, will miss me 
so. And the children — really I cannot think how 
grandma will get on without them.” And at the 
thought of her widowed mother’s impending 
loss, tender-hearted Mrs. Winters winked hastily 


The Minis ter 7nust go. 


85 


to quench the rising tear drops, for she had no 
mind to harass her husband, more than she could 
help. 

‘‘ And what shall you do, John she inquired, 
a moment later. 

“Well, the term of my engagement does not 
end for two months yet, and in the meantime I 
may get a call elsewhere. But I would like to 
tell you, Mary,” he continued earnestly, “that in 
any case I could not have continued on here. I 
have long noticed that all I could do, was power- 
less to stem the tide of reckless disbelief and indif- 
ference that for some time has been flowing in 
among the people of our church, and not for long 
could I continue on peaceful relations with a con- 
gregation, whose most influential members are 
antagonistic to what I deem the essential points 
of a Christian life. For Mary,” and here the pas- 
tor’s pale face flushed up with the intensity of 
his unwonted excitement, “ I am not exaggerating 
when I tell you that the majority of our congre- 
gation are drifting off from the fundamental 
IDrinciples of Christianity, while the greater part 


86 


The Minister must go. 


of the rest are either too lukewarm or cowardly 
to combat the dangers in their midst, or to fight 
boldly in their Master’s defense. Therefore you 
can see, Mary, how worse than useless it would 
have been for me to hope to stem the current, 
that, unless I am much mistaken, is leading them 
to open infidelity.” 

Mary Winters sighed, while she only nodded 
an assent to her husband’s declarations. She, 
poor woman, was thinking more of her own share 
of all this wretched trouble, than of the danger 
threatening the faith of the congregation — of the 
banishment from her life-long home it would 
entail on herself and her children, and of the 
widowed mother whose failing health required 
her daughter’s kindly attention. However, Mary 
Winters was a practical person, blessed with a 
fund of common sense, and as she had always 
known that her husband’s position depended on 
the will of the congregation, she could not but 
acquiesce in their decision now, and do her best 
to permit no complaining of her own depriva- 
tions to add to her husband’s trouble. 


The Minister must go. 


87 


Meanwhile, Mr. Wentworth had informed his 
wife, that by the decision of the majoritj^ of the 
meeting at which he had been the presiding 
officer, — and, though he did not add this, the lead- 
ing voice, — the services of the Reverend John 
Winters would be dispensed with at the close of 
his present term of engagement. Now, as the 
discarded minister had always been an especial 
favorite and friend of Mrs. Wentworth’s, it may 
be supposed that the information was rather dis- 
apiDointing to the lady. Indeed, she had held a 
strong hope that he would be retained, even 
though she was well aware of the distaste of 
many of the congregation towards him. She had 
plainly expressed her hoj)e to her husband before 
the meeting, and she had thought thereby to 
influence him in the retention of Mr. Winters. 

‘‘ I am truly sorry that we are to lose him,” 
she only said, letting her hands lie idly on the 
piece of fancy work in her lap. It was worse 
than useless, she knew, to venture reproach 
when the thing was done. 

“Well, you know, my dear,” her husband 


88 


The Minister must go. 


answered, looking critically at liis well-shaped 
finger-nails, “ that Mr. Winters is behind the age 
in his theology, not to sj^eak of his want of style 
and total lack of modern eloquence, and as one 
of the members remarked at our meeting, ‘ We 
are a rich enough congregation to be able to pro- 
cure higher-priced preaching than Winters was 
ever able to give us and if I know the feeling 
of our peoifie, we are going to get it.” 

“Why, Herbert, have they heard of any one 
who would be apt to meet the requirements of our 
very mixed congregation f ’ for Mrs. Wentworth 
was secretly disappointed in that her husband 
had not met her wishes in the matter of retaining 
Mr. Winters. 

“Oh, well, as for meeting the views of all the 
church, that of course would be an impossibility; 
but we, who are the main support of the church, 
are determined that we shall be suited in a 
preacher. And that reminds me,” he interrupted 
himself to say, “that Horace Stewart made him- 
self remarkably eloquent in the way of espous- 
ing Mr. Winters’ cause. You know that’s his 


The Minister must go. 


89 


forte, generally — taking the part of the oppressed 
and so forth.” And here the speaker sneered dis- 
agreeably at the thought. 

Mrs. Wentworth had not intended to reproach 
her husband for his part in thwarting her wishes 
in regard to the minister ; but she would not for- 
bear to say a word in defense of her young 
friend. 

“Well, Herbert,” she remarked, quietly, 
“you would scarcely expect that he would 
remain silent in the face of so much fault found 
with Mr. Winters, whom he has ever held in the 
highest esteem, and of whom he had received 
many signal tokens of friendship.” 

“Oh, yes, I know, the two are cronies — pretty 
much of one mind in the matter of crazy. Quix- 
otic projects in behalf of the working people, — 
such, for instance, as giving them an equal share 
in conducting the business of our church mat- 
ters, — as well as other things, views which, I will 
say, can have no place in a sensible community 
like ours, which rich men have built up, and 
which they mean to rule, — by Jove. And I won- 


90 


The Minister must go. 


der,” he went on, with some heat, ‘‘if they think 
that I, at least, have invested the capital it took 
me long years to accumulate, for the sole pur* 
pose of conferring a benefit on their dear people ; 
for if they do think so, they are largely mis- 
taken, I can tell them. Nor do I intend that some 
people, represented by such Quixotic fools as 
Horace Stewart and his kind, shall dictate to us 
in the choice of a preacher for the church I gave 
the most to erect.” 

Yes, he had said it — the church he had given 
the most to erect, and his wife listened without 
outspoken comment, for how could she bid him 
remember the sums he had wrested from the 
hard toil of his workmen — the sums that in the 
aggregate had made the splendid figures set 
opposite his name % No ! for, loving her husband 
as she did, with a true wife’s tender unselfish- 
ness, she could not seem to set herself up as his 
monitor ; but nevertheless she remembered, and 
remembering, asked herself, how could a bless- 
ing come of such workings, and the wrested 
earnings of the toilers^ \vrested even 


The Minister must go. 


91 


against their will and consent, calls down from 
Heaven a blessing on the splendid edifice, whose 
massive walls had already echoed with the 
wranglings of its divided people. 

“ Well, it does seem as if we were not going 
to be permitted much of a voice in the business 
of our church,” remarked one old deacon to 
another, some few days afterwards. They were 
the same two old men who had looked on so 
sadly at the demolition of the old church. 

‘‘Yes, I rather guess,” returned his compan- 
ion, “ that we’ve about lived our time. But I 
would like to live long enough to see those 
upstart mushroom members of ours see the height 
of their folly. Just to think,” he continued, in 
some indignation, “of their voting to let Mr. 
Winters go away at the end of his engagement, 
and the only real fault they have to find with 
him, is that he is too plain and old-fashioned 
for the new church ; and that, too, although they 
at the same time can’t deny, that he has, by his 
moral influence, increased the membership and 
attendance of the church.” 


92 


The Minister must go. 


“Oh, well, their decision did not surprise 
me, at all events,” returned the other. “ I have 
known for some time that they were bent on 
making a show. Well, let them,” he concluded, 
“and if I’m not a false prophet, some of them, 
at least, will live to regret their folly.” 

But in the meantime a good man was sacri- 
ficed, and his religious influence destroyed in 
Silverton, for the time at least, by the arbitrary 
decision of a parcel of Godless men, who seemed 
to think that the furtherance of their own 
haughty aims was more to be desired than even 
the saving of the souls of the people. 


The New Preacher. 


93 


CHAPTER yi. 

THE HEW PREACHER. 

T he summer’s vacation was over, and even 
the rich men of Silverton had returned 
from the mountains and the cool shore places 
where they had wooed sweet summer leisure. 

During the absence of the wealthier mem- 
bers of the congregation, the handsome granite 
church had remained, for the most of the season, 
closed, except when on an occasional Sunday, 
the stay-at-homes were treated to the borrowed 
eloquence of some invited clergyman, who, if he 
was not actuated by love of his ministry, at 
least bore in mind, that the wealthiest* church in 
the State was bidding for a preacher. 

But they had all returned, and now the 
preacher must be chosen, so that the flock 
would no longer be looking for a shepherd. 

Owing to the various opinions and tastes of 
the committee who were to choose the new min- 


94 


The New Preacher, 


ister, the matter was slow in settling, but at 
length, as usual, the stronger gained their wishes, 
and the call was given to a young clergyman, 
whose fame as a i)reacher of modern style and 
powerful eloquence, the Rev. Morton Hurst 
Welton, had won the admiration of those mem- 
bers of the granite church who had long before 
decided that none but such as he would fill the 
pulpit of their beautiful new church. 

‘‘ I say, Tom, how did you like the new 
preacher, last night asked Joe Banks, the 
orator of the lower department of the Silverton 
Manufacturing Com^jany, as the men were pre- 
paring to clean up one evening. 

“Oh, he’s a stunner, of course,” returned the 
other. ‘‘But, then, so he might be, considering 
his price— ten thousand dollars. And they say,” 
he continued, as he proceeded to remove the 
thick layer of dust that hid his complexion 
from his fellowman, “ they say, that old Went- 
worth himself, pays a whole third of his salary.” 

“Yes, so 1 hear,” declared Joe, “and I can’t 
but admire the generosity of our chief, while I 


The New Preacher, 


95 


do question the honesty of robbing Peter to pay 
Paul — for what else can you call it, boys,” he 
continued, turning round to face them. “Here 
they’ve been and cut us down three times, in 
as inanjT- years, saying times are so hard and 
profits are so low, that they are unable to pay 
us as formerly, and yet, at the same time 
they’ve built the grandest and costliest church 
in the State, and are hiring a preacher at a ten 
thousand a year salary. Just turn that over in 
your minds, boys.” 

“ Well, all Pve got to say about it,” declared 
Tom, coming to a philosophic conclusion, “is 
that times have changed since the fishermen 
preached in Gallilee, for not Csesar himself was 
lodged better than some of our modern preach- 
ers. Not but what I allow them to be deserving 
of the best as gentlemen, while at the same time 
I can’t help thinking that the most of them set 
a good deal of store by the wealth of this wicked 
world.” 

“ Well, 1 don’t know but what you are parfly 
right as to most of our preachers,” assented Joe. 


96 


The New Preacher. 


“ But whose fault is it, I’d like to know ? Why, 
it’s the fault of the very men who’ve went and 
cut us fellows down to starvation wages, so that 
they might be able to cut a large swell with their 
grand church and high-priced preacher.” 

“Oh, come now,” here interposed a pleasant- 
faced young man, who had not hitherto taken 
part in the somewhat ludicrous discussion, 
“Aren’t you fellows most tired of that old sub- 
ject? — for if not, lam. So let’s have something 
new, unless,” and here he winked knowingly at 
his chums, “you have a remedy to propose.” 

“A remedy? What remedy could I propose 
that would avail against the might of our em- 
ployers ?” and the speaker glared around at the 
faces of his companions, in search of the admira- 
tion he expected, but failed to find ; for just at 
that moment the great gong sounded for six 
o’clock, and one and all, forgetting wrongs and 
all other annoyances, rushed forth to the wel- 
come liberty ; and it might be remarked that 
Joe, the orator, stopped on his way to refresh 
himself with three or four glasses of cool beer, 


The New Preacher. 


97 


quite regardless of the fact that he could no 
longer afford such luxuries. 

The Reverend Morton Hurst Welton — or, as he 
was fond of signing himself, ‘‘The Reverend M. 
H. Welton,” — was a man of handsome presence, 
and courtly bearing, possessing oratoric powers 
of a rare order. 

In truth, of him it might be said, that he 
lacked but one quality to make him a successful 
preacher ; but there are people old-fashioned 
enough to assert that it is the most essential 
quality of all that a preacher may possess. But 
with all his grand oratoric ability, and winning 
gift of speech, the Reverend M. H. Welton failed 
to impress on his hearers that he himself 
believed fully in the doctrine he so glowingly 
preached. 

But, after all, perhaps that might be consid- 
ered as a trifling fault, when it was remembered 
against the qualities that had drawn the atten- 
tion of the rich members of the new church 
towards the popular young minister. 

And it must be confessed that, whatever else 
6 


98 


The New P^^eacher, 


he lacked, he was indeed popular — as witness the 
way he filled the church with listeners, before he 
was a month in Silverton. 

“ Yes, I do agree with you, my dear,” said 
Mrs. Wentworth one day, in answer to a remark 
of young Mrs. Murrey, that our new minis- 
ter is a fine-looking gentleman, and an eloquent 
preacher ; and yet I cannot, try as I may, disa- 
buse myself of the fancy, that he is all the time 
posing as a scoffer, even while he is preaching 
the word of God.” And as she spoke, the lady 
looked out straight before her, with a puzzled 
expression on her fair kindly face. 

“ Why, now that you remind me of it,” 
declared the younger lady, ‘‘I have a remem- 
brance of the same fancy annoying myself as I 
listened to him ; though, indeed, until you men- 
tioned it, I scarcely knew how to name ni}^ 
thought. However, Mrs. Wentworth, we must of 
course believe, that it is only a fancy on our 
part, for we can scarcely deem our new minister 
a scoffer — for that, you know, would be too ter- 
rible.” 


The New Preacher, 


99 


“Yes, that would be terrible, as you say,” 
replied Mrs. Wentworth. “And yet I cannot but 
think that we will lose by the change from Mr. 
Winters ; though, I dare say, that is only my 
foolish prejudice,” and the lady smiled depre- 
catingly. 

“ Oh, as for that, indeed, you are not the 
only one who regrets the loss of our pastor ; for 
I, myself, can scarcely believe that even this 
splendid new man will ever fill the place of our 
good Mr. Winters. And that reminds me of 
what Charlie said, when we first heard that the 
E,ev. Mr. Welton was ‘coming here. ‘Why,’ 
said he, ‘ the Rev. Welton is an old school- 
mate of mine ; he and I graduated together be- 
fore 1 began to study medicine. And I never 
will forget,’ he continued, ‘ how very much sur- 
prised I was to learn that he had chosen the 
ministry as a vocation, for while, in regard to 
ability and general learning, he was foremost in 
everything, on the other hand, he was the very 
worst boy in the whole school, and just the very 


lOO 


The New Preacher, 


last one I should have pointed out as a future 
divine.’ ” 

“ Now, what do you think of that for an early 
record, Mrs. Wentworth?” concluded the some- 
what excited younger lady. 

“Oh, well,” answered her hostess, “I would 
never let that rule me in my judgment of our new 
pastor. I would not, you know,” she added, 
with a sweet smile, “for do you know that Her- 
bert himself has often told me, that he himself 
was perfectly incorrigible when at school.” 

“I don’t doubt it in the least,” was the 
younger lady’s secret thought, while in her usual 
blunt way she said, “You must forgive me for 
saying, my dear Mrs. Wentworth, that I have 
never thought your good husband a model of 
piety any more than my own Charlie, who fairly 
startles me now and then with his dreadful 
theology.” 

Now, if Mrs. Wentworth possessed one qual- 
ity stronger than another, it was loyalty to her 
husband, so she only said, “As a general rule, 
men are not so devotional as we women are, 


The New Preacher. 


lOI 


though I have no doubt our husbands are as true 
at heart as the rest.” 

“Well, you speak for Mr. Wentworth, of 
course. As for my dear doctor, he will have to 
change some before I can fairly accuse him of the 
least particle of religious sentiment. And yet 
he is so good and tender-hearted, with not one 
particle of selfishness in his whole composition, 
that 1 have great hopes of a change of heart for 
him ; that is, I did have, until our fine new 
preacher came, and now I am doubtful of his 
influence to lead him right, but 1 will still hope 
for the best.” And the doctor’s wife arose to 
take her leave. 

“That’s right, my dear,” said the gentle 
hostess. “Just hope and trust, and show him a 
good example yourself, and no doubt he will 
come to your way of thinking by and by.” 

So the Reverend Morton Hurst AVelton had 
come to minister to the spiritual wants of the 
people of the wealthiest church in Silverton, and 
in so doing, it must be confessed that the rever- 


102 


The New Preacher. 


end gentleman considered tliat lie had conferred 
no small benefit on those same jieople. 

True, they had offered him, perhaps, the high- 
est salary he had ever thought to receive for his 
ministrations ; but as his fame had arisen on the 
waves of his popularity, so had his self-import- 
ance, until he had even hesitated ere accepting 
the munificent offer of the aristocracy of Silver- 
ton. 

But he had come, he had preached his first 
sermon, looking all the while into the faces of 
the people before him, to note what effect his 
rare eloquence might have upon them— at least, 
that had been his ulterior object. 

But that object had soon been lost sight of, in 
another and newer sensation. 

Straight in front of him, in the highest-priced 
pew in the church, was seated the family of Mr. 
Herbert Wentworth, that gentleman, himself, 
being the most prominent person there. 

But prominent as he was, his was not the face 
that had so impressed the admiring interest of 
the splendidly endowed young preacher. 


The New Preacher. 


103 


Seated between her parents, Evelyn Went- 
worth had been listening with absorbing interest, 
to the words of the new minister, when his 
searching gaze fell on her earnest face, which, in 
its utter forgetfulness of self, bore the impress of 
saintly purity, and in that moment, the heart of 
the man who should have been the highest and 
holiest there, felt rebuked at his own unworth- 
iness. 

But the heart of the popular preacher was 
not wont to be long disturbed at his own short- 
comings ; so that whatever little twinge of re- 
morse had for the moment disturbed him, it was 
soon displaced by a pleasanter feeling, as his 
fastidious taste assured him, that here at last, was 
a rarely beautiful girl. 

For the much-coveted preacher had never yet 
known the sweet tyranny of love’s young dream. 

Thus far, though he had admired many, and 
even, in a devout way, paid attentions to more 
than one of the fair maidens of his various flocks, 
his heart had never responded to one tender 
glance from eyes that had so openly admired 


104 


The New Preacher. 


him, until now, when the honest young eyes of a 
stranger maiden, eyes with nothing tenderer in 
them than a vague wonder, as she listened to his 
highly cultured, but ambiguous discourse, caused 
the almost dormant conscience within him to 
make lament for that absence of sincerity, that 
left his preaching nothing but vapid flowing elo- 
quence. 

But after a moment or two the Reverend Mr. 
Welton might seek out those sweet eyes as often 
as he would, without again encountering that 
troubled glance. In truth, Evelyn had grown 
weary of the eloquent preacher, while her 
thoughts had drifted more agreeably to that x)art 
of the stately edifice where Horace Stewart sat 
vainly trying to catch a glimpse of her own 
exquisite profile. 

Poor things ! that was almost the most they 
could see of each other, of late, when the course 
of their love ran in such troubled waters — waters 
stirred to their muddiest depths by the arbitrary 
hands of Evelyn’s father himself. 

For Mr. Wentworth had never wavered in his 


The New Preacher. 


105 


determination to sever all connection between liis 
own family and that of Horace Stewart. 

For some time after the meeting of the church, 
committee, the young man continued to visit at 
the house, until, tiring at length of the ill-con- 
cealed aversion of his host, he ceased his visits 
entirely. That was just what the elder gentleman 
wished ; but it might be questioned whether it 
furthered his plans for the total extinction of the 
young people’s love dream, for on every occasion 
that the genius and skillful management of the 
determined lover could compass, they met and 
exchanged the whispered word of hope and 
courage, or the mute thrilling glances of undying 
fidelity to their promised vows. 

As might be expected, the result of this en- 
forced separation, only broken now and then by 
moments of snatched comfort, was that their love 
deepened to a passionate intensity, until he was 
ready to risk life and fortune, to win her for his 
own ; while she— well, she was wont to go at 
night, straight from her father’s presence, to 
kneel beside her snowy couch, and mingle with 


io6 


The New Preacher. 


her prayers a solemn vow, that she would go to 
her grave unwed, ere she would be the wife of 
any other man that lived ; for somehow, of late, 
Mr. Wentworth had begun to hint that he had in 
view a son-in-law to his choice — one who would 
not always be setting himself up as a reformer, 
as against his, Mr. Wentworth’s 'views. 

By this time, the reader will have seen that 
the prosperous chief of the Silverton Bronze Co, 
was rather set in his unreasonable dislike of two 
men. 

Oddly enough, and unaccountable even to his 
own secret self, he had never liked the j^oung 
foreman, Frank Markham, from the first moment 
they met ; and though the latter’s genial manners, 
and general aptitude for the business, won the 
friendship of the workmen, and the good-will of 
their superiors, an aversion, amounting to hat- 
red, had grown up towards him in the worldly 
heart of the head of the firm, or company. 

Something,— he could not explain what,- -had 
held him always, from harming the young man 
in any way even while he shrank from the 


The New Preacher. 


107 


prospect of seeing him one day, a junior in the 
concern, — for that, he could not help knowing, 
would be the certain end of what he was forced 
to secretly acknowledge, Frank’s rare and valua- 
ble abilities. 

But the years that strengthened and matured 
the younger man’s powers, rendering him a val- 
uable aid to the business, and yet never causing 
him to lose one particle of the kindly friendship, 
and true, if rough, regard, given to him by the 
men, only served to deepen Mr. Wentworth’s 
aversion towards him, an aversion so deep, that 
it had long ago become apparent to its object, 
who, in the confidences he was wont to exchange 
with his widowed mother, had more than once 
touched upon it in his rather careless surprise, 
that the cause was to him nothing but a mys- 
tery. 

But it was not only with careless wonder that 
his devoted mother listened to his recital of the 
signs and tokens of Mr. Wentworth’s dislike of 
him. You see, dear reader, the poor widow had 
only her Frank, if we except that memory of a 


io8 


The Nezv Preacher. 


dead man, to love and cherish ; therefore, even 
more than other mothers, she saw nothing but 
perfection in her boy, and no good reason why 
all others should not, at least, think well of him. 

She had never met Mr. AVentworth, but she 
j^earned to do so, and she felt too that she 
would like to ask him point blank how it was 
that he so disliked her son ; for she felt, poor 
woman, that she, and she only, was the rightful 
champion of the boy whose young father had 
been drawn to an untimely death beneath the 
cruel waves, before his son had seen the light. 

It might seem ludicrous to an outsider, this 
championship of the ageing mother, for her stal- 
wart, able son ; but then it must be remembered 
that Kachel was a woman, unlike most, remem- 
bering, what she deemed her rightful place, as the 
equal of the best in Silverton, for she had ever 
held to the firm belief that her husband had been 
a gentleman. She had held aloof from what 
society was within her reach, until, hoarding 
within her own heart the thought and feelings 
that actuated her, she had grown more morbid 


The' New Preacher. 


109 


than otherwise — hence her depth and intensity of 
thought and feeling. 

That she had never come face to face with Mr. 
W entworth was not strange, when we remember 
the difference between their respective ways of 
life. Though not a regular attendant at church, 
she yet went there often enough to have met the 
richest man there, but that as it happened, slight 
causes — trifles — had prevented her from going 
when he attended, and she had never conde- 
scended to ask another to point out her enemy to 
her. But they would yet meet, face to face, she 
told herself, for, strangely enough, she sometimes 
forgot even her son and his grievance, as the 
reason for her desire to meet with her enemy. 

Yes, the rich and prosperous chief of the Silver- 
ton Bronze Company, harbored a deej) dislike for 
two men, — men, who, indeed, had never harmed 
him, — and just as unreasonably he was now form- 
ing as strange a friendship for a man who had 
never done aught to win his esteem or liking ; for 
from the first he was a warm admirer and out- 
spoken friend of the new minister. 


no 


The New Preacher, 


The intricacy or ambiguity of the learned gen^ 
tleman’s theology, he never troubled himself 
about — indeed, he would have been puzzled to 
explain his own real belief ; enough for him, 
that he liked the new preacher, whose eloquence 
was already filling to repletion the splendid edi> 
fice of which he considered himself the founder. 


The Dinner at Mr. WentwortEs. in 


CHAPTER YU. 

THE DIITNER AT MR. WENTWORTH’ S. 

T is a fine piece of goods, madam. It can 



I not be produced in another store in 
town,” the good-looking clerk was saying to his 
customer, Mrs. Markham, as he deftly undid 
fold after fold of the rich-looking black cash- 


mere. 


But his fulsome praise of the goods fell on 
unheeding ears, for just then two young ladies 
entered the store, and stood at some little dis- 
tance conversing eagerly. 

“ Who is that beautiful girl ?” almost gasped 
the widow, her gaze riveted in startled amaze at 
a face, whose sudden appearance before her had 
almost caused her heart to stand still. 

Now, the young clerk noticing the glance of 
his customer, and her startled exclamation, 
“who is that beautiful girl,” saw with the eyes 


1 12 The Dinner at Mr. Wcntwortli s. 


of his love — for, alas for his peace of mind, a 
hopeless attachment for pretty Margery Stewart 
had long consumed him — who w^as surely meant, 
so hastened to reply in an ecstatic whisper : 

‘‘Oh, that’s Miss Margery Stewart, Mr. Hor- 
ace Stewart’s sister.” 

As we have said before, young Margery Stew- 
art was fair and sweet as heart could wish — indeed 
in her w^ay beautiful too ; but only one in love 
wdth her would have set her beauty before the 
exquisite perfection of Evelyn Wentworth’s rare 
attractions. 

But it was the lover’s eyes that had singled 
out his ideal, never noticing that his customer’s 
gaze was riveted on the face of her companion, 
who was greeting fondly the dear young friend ; 
for, owing to her father’s management, they had 
met but seldom of late. 

“Miss Stewart,” Mrs. Markham was saying 
to herself, in a dazed sort of w^ay, “ what a like- 
ness ; how came it, I wonder ?” And just at that 
moment Evelyn Wentworth looked up, and the 
eyes of the two met, the two so strangely dissimi- 


TJu Dinner at Mr. Wentworth s. 113 


lar — tlie faded, sad-looking widow, and the rarely 
beautiful girl — and at the moment a thrill shot 
through the hearts of each. Why, in the young 
girl’s case, she could never explain, unless she 
was startled at the woman’s scrutiny. 

But the young lady’s look breaking the spell 
of amazement, Mrs. Markham resumed her exam- 
ination of the goods, which, meeting her require- 
ments, she was soon on her way out of the store. 
But not before another greedy glance had fed 
her desire to look again at the exquisite face, the 
sight of which had brought back to her vision 
another face, she believed, long years since 
destroyed beneath the cruel waves. 

Yes, the sight of Evelyn Wentworth’s face 
had carried the widow’s thoughts back to that 
summer day, long years ago, when she had 
looked for the last time in the handsome face of 
her young husband, Chester Markham, when, 
before going out to that sail upon the river, from 
which he had never returned, he had taken his 
young wife in his arms and kissed her fondly. 

His face, as he had looked into her adoring 


1 14 The Dinner at Mr. WeiitwortJi s. 


eyes, had been earnest with some deep feeling 
stirring within him, and thus it had remained in 
her memory. 

And it was the expression of tender friend- 
ship for her dear young friend, her lover’s sister, 
on Evelyn’s beautiful face, that had made the 
likeness so startling to the woman who had treas- 
ured so sacredly the memory of the young hus- 
band, whose loss had made her life so desolate. 

‘‘And that is Miss Margery Stewart,” she 
said to herself, as she entered her cottage ; “ the 
girl my son loves. No wonder that the boy was 
impelled to love her. Ah me !” she soliloquized, 
as she took off her outdoor apparel, “and I pos- 
sess no likeness, no picture, of my dear love, to 
show to his son. Well, if he ever wins that 
lovely Margery for his wife, he will possess a liv- 
ing likeness of his own father.” And then the 
widow sat down in her easy-chair to muse awhile 
over the vision called back to her memory by the 
chance encounter of a young girl’s face. 

And just at that moment Evelyn was saying 
to her mother, “Do you know, mamma, that I 


The Dinner at Mr. Wentworth s. 115 


was quite startled by the curious actions of a per- 
son who was looking at some goods in Rallies, 
to-day % I had just met Margery Stewart, and we 
were both so pleased to meet — you know, 
mamma— when the woman’s persistent staring at 
me caused me to almost forget what I wanted to 
say to Margery. I asked Margery who she was, 
and she said that the woman was the mother of 
Frank Markham — that young foreman, you know, 
who, they all say, will be superintendent, some 
day. Now, if his mother had stared at Margery, 
you know, mamma, I should not have been the 
least surprised, for it is current report, that he 
cherishes a hopeless attachment for our dainty 
Margery, who is more flattered than displeased, 
I really believe, at the idea.” And Evelyn laughed 
merrily at the thought of her friend’s romance. 

“ Well, now, that reminds me,” returned Mrs. 
Wentworth, “that the same person gave me 
some little annoyance in the same way, on the 
evening of our first meeting. I have heard quite 
a good deal about her, lately, from some of our 
members, who think quite highly of her, as a 


ii6 The Dinner at Mr. Wentwortli s. 


mother, though neither her, nor her son are pro* 
fessed members of the church. But I cannot 
think what interest you or I p)ossess for her, to 
render us such objects of her attention. But, by- 
the-way, Evelyn,” she continued, dismissing the 
former subject, ‘‘Mr. Welton dines with us to- 
night, with two or three more people, whom your 
father has asked to meet him.” 

“Oh that tiresome Mr. Welton !” exclaimed 
Evelyn. “I cannot help it mamma,” she contin- 
ued, as Jier mother looked reprovingly at her, 
“but you know that papa always singles me out 
to entertain him, and I have grown so intolerably 
weary of his flattering speeches, and devoted 
attention ; for you know, mamma,” and a warm 
color overspread the girl’s face, “ that though I 
have willingly submitted to papa’s wishes in the 
matter of Horace Stewart’s visits here, I can 
never bring myself to listen to words of love or 
even admiration from another, however worthy 
that other may be ; for to you at least, mamma,” 
and here the girl’s eyes filled, “ I may say, in all 
earnestness, that 1 consider myself in the light 


The Dinner at Mr. Wentworth s . 1 1 7 


of Horace Stewart’s promised wife, and therefore 
under sacred obligations to keep faithful to him 
in word and deed. And feeling thus, mamma,” 
she continued with some heat, “ how can I sit 
and tamely listen to our pastor’s overdrawn flat- 
teries, under which he so thinly veils his deeper 
meaning. 

“No, mamma,” she hastened to add, “don’t 
say the very thin reproof you are so dutifully 
intending.” 

“ I am not mistaken, nor deceived with vain 
self-esteem, nor indeed will you yourself think I 
am fancying improbabilities when 1 tell you, that 
only the last time he dined here, he told me can- 
didly that he had papa’s good wishes for his suc- 
cess in winning my favor ; and you know, mamma, 
that the favor of a girl like me, would be of 
slight use to a talented clergyman, if he meant 
nothing more than ordinary friendship.” 

“ Well, my dear, while you may be right in 
your feelings as to Mr. Welton’s intentions, I 
can scarcely think that your father will force 
your inclinations in such a serious matter as 


1 1 8 The Dinner at Mr. Wentworth' s. 


your choice of a life partner. However, my dear 
Evelyn, while I would counsel respectful submis- 
sion to your father’s wislies in so far as right and 
justice, I agree with you, that you cannot con- 
sider the matter of accepting the serious atten- 
tions of other than Horace, who we so plainly 
allowed you to look upon as your future hus- 
band, and whose pledge you were x>ermitted to 
receive.” 

‘‘Oh, mamma dear,” burst out the now al- 
most weeping girl, “bless you for such words of 
encouragement and hopeful comfort, — words 
which indeed, my poor heart has long yearned to 
hear ! For do yon know, mamma, that I had be- 
gun to fear that papa had succeeded in winning 
you over to his side, and that you were leaving 
me to fight my weary battle all alone ?” 

“Leaving you to fight alone, my Evelyn?” 
spoke the startled heart of the mother. “How 
could you think so, my darling?’^ And then the 
loyal wife paused a moment. “But there shall be 
no fight at all, my child ; your father loves you 
too well, Evelyn, and he is too just to force you, 


The Dinner at Mr, WentwortJis. 119 


as I said before. Have x^atience fora little while, 
and he will come to our way of thinking, and all 
will be right. In the meantime,” she resumed, 
bravely, overruling a desire to remain x^assive for 
lier husband’s sake, “remember that I am the 
earnest and sincere friend of Horace Stewmrt, to 
the exclusion of all others who may design to 
supplant him.” 

“ Then, mamma,” declared her daughter, “I 
have no fear for our ultimate success, and I will 
tell Horace so too, when I sx^eak to him again,” 
she concluded with a sigh, as she left the room to 
prepare for dinner. 

Yes, it was true, the Rev. Morton Hurst Wel- 
ton had fallen deeply in love with the girl, whose 
earnest glance had thrilled his vain-glorious heart 
the first time his eyes had rested on her fair 
sweet face. 

He had many fancies before, but he had never 
really loved, until now — at least that was what he 
told himself, as he declared mentally, that she, 
and none other, must be his wife. 

And he had reason, too, to hope that his de- 


120 The Dinner at Mr. VVentwort/is. 


sire would come about, for he had a powerful 
friend at court, in the father of his fair en- 
slaver. 

True, the young lady herself had failed, thus 
far, to respond to his Very pointed attentions. 
But that, he argued within himself, was doubt- 
less owing to her shy modesty, that could not, all 
at once, take to herself the thought that her 
handsome, highly-gifted young pastor was ready 
to lay all his worth and honors at her feet. 

You see, our splendid young clergyman was 
very much of an egotist, and could not dream 
that he could prove other than desirable as a 
husband, to whatever maiden he might choose to 
honor with his preference. 

But, as we have said, he x^ossessed a powerful 
ally in Evelyn’s father. 

As he disliked Horace Stewart for his honest 
candor and fearless defense of his working peo- 
ple, as he almost hated his young subordinate, 
Frank Markham, for no other reason under the 
sun, that he could exx^lain, even to himself, 
just so, on the other hand, he had taken a vio- 


The Dinner at Mr. WentwortJi s. 12 1 


lent liking for the young minister, who had been 
brought to the place, mainly through his efforts. 

Some subtle chord underlying the nature of 
both these men — the prosperous, elderly man- 
ufacturer and the talented, successful young 
preacher — had seemed to draw them together 
from the first, so that when Herbert Wentworth 
noted the growth of his reverend friend’s admir- 
ation for his beautiful Evelyn, he vowed inward- 
ly, he, and only he, would wed his daughter. 

And with this firm resolve, no thought of what 
the young girl herself might have to say, in 
regard to the disposal of her life, ever gave him 
the least uneasiness. He was master of his child, 
he told himself, as well as all things under his 
rule, and then, his thoughts were wont to stray to 
another object when he styled himself master. 
How was it, that, hating young Frank Markham, 
he had permitted him to stay on in his employ, 
or that of the company, whose chief he was ; and 
what had been- the secret power holding him back 
from doing aught to injure the youth ? In fact, it 


122 The Dinner at Mr. WentwortJis. 


was a mystery he could not explain, while it 
harrassed him to weariness at times. 

But he had at length found a man after his 
own heart, though it gave him no twinge of 
regret that he had come to see and know that the 
Reverend Morton Hurst Wei ton was nothing bet- 
ter than a stupendous sham at heart. As far as 
sincerity of religious profession went, he was 
popular and powerful with a certain class, and it 
was the class whose wealth and influence, com- 
bined with their power as employers, had made, 
and was constantly increasing the popularity of 
the Granite Church of Silver ton. Further than 
that, he, Mr. Wentworth, did not care to probe ; 
as a son-in-law, the Rev. M. H. Wilton was up to 
his standard, and he had no mind to let the weak 
fancy of a girl interfere with his project. 

The guests at Mr. Wentworth’s dinner table 
that evening were not many, but they were 
select, after the tastes of the host. 

There was the mayor and his wife, both warm 
admirers of Mr. Wentworth ; he, the mayor, hav- 
ing owed his official position to that gentleman’s 


The Dinner at Mr. Wentwortli s. 


123 


efforts in his behalf, while the lady — well, it was 
said that her adoring husband had selected her 
from among her companions in the workroom of 
his millinery establishment, to be his wife, and 
that from that time the lady had drawn a dis- 
tinct line between the class to which she had 
formerly belonged, and her present one — the 
working-people must be kept in their own xdace, 
totally forgetting, it would seem, her own natu- 
ral place ; hence the friendship between this 
delightful couple and their host. Next in order 
came Mr. Foster Lowrie and lady, and if the lat- 
ter was the third lady living who had worn the 
honor of being his wife, what matter % Had not 
the lawfully constituted courts freed him from 
former bonds, and made his present union as 
lawful as any in the land % 

Mr. Foster Lowrie was not a deacon of the 
church, nor even a professed Christian at all, but 
then, you see, he was perhaps the richest man in 
Silverton, and one of the largest contributors to 
its funds ; therefore, it would be impolite, to say 
the least, to refuse to let him pass upon their 


124 The Dinner at Mr. WentwortJis. 


doings, and rule them, too. He it was who had 
drawn Mr. Wentworth’s attention to the neces* 
sity of dispensing with the services of Mr. Win- 
ters, and procuring higher talent. 

And these were all of Mr. Wentworth’s espec- 
ial friends, if we except the most honored one of 
them all — the Hev. Mr. Wei ton. True, there was 
another couple present, but they were only Mrs. 
Wentworth’s pet friends, Mr. and Mrs. Lester 
Thornton. It was the proud boast of Herbert 
Wentworth, in moments of excitement, to style 
himself a self-made man — perhajDS forgetting 
the hereditary talent of unscrupulous acquire- 
ment transmitted to him through some delight- 
ful ancestor. 

So, on the other hand, Lester Thornton 
might well call himself a self; made man — that 
is, in the loss of worldly wealth ; nor was his 
wife blameless in the matter, for two more un- 
selfish i)eople, nor more given to over-much trust 
in their fellow-men, perhaps never lived, at least, 
in Silverton ; and the consequence was that while 
their neighbors for the most part, rode stead- 


The Dinner at Mr. WentwortJi s. 125 


ily on to wealth and prosperity, these kind, 
tender hearts, grew poorer in the world’s goods, 
but oh, so immeasurably rich in the hearts and 
prayers of the poor and helpless, whom their 
bounty and tender friendship had succored. 

As we have said, these two were the poorest 
at Mr. Wentworth’s table, but they were the best 
in what is so often styled blue blood, and, as the 
distant relatives of the lady of the house, were 
nearest to her at table. On the right hand of the 
host sat his reverend friend, who was taxing all 
the powers of his conversational talents to win 
smiles of approval from the sweet lips of his fair 
neighbor — Evelyn, who, indeed, gave her hand- 
some pastor scant reward for his evident pains ; 
for how could she smile approval of his lover-like 
attentions, when all the while her heart was with 
one, who, in times gone by, had been the hon- 
ored guest and welcome friend at that table, but 
who now was never bidden there. Thus it was 
that her answers to her reverend suitor were 
more constrained than otherwise, even though 


126 The Dmner at Mr, WentwortJis, 


her father’s eyes resting on her in stern reproof, 
gave notice of his ill-concealed annoyance. 

But he need not have feared that her coldness 
would daunt, in the least, the reverend gentle- 
man’s ardor; he only saw maidenly coyness in 
the manners of the young girl, who, he argued 
within himself, must feel slightly bewildered at 
the honor conferred on her by her pastor. 

But the slow hours of the evening passed, and 
Evelyn was released at last from the irksomeness 
of sitting beside him at the table, and afterward, 
the intolerable weariness of playing and singing 
the airs of his choice, while the other guests sat 
around, listening and approving, and passing 
audible remarks on the well- matched pair. 

It was over, at last, and Evelyn was standing 
on the hearth-rug, trying vainly to shake off the 

creeping feeling of utter repulsion that had crept] 

1 

over her when the Reverend Mr. Welton had 
kissed her hand at parting — when her father re- 
turned from bidding his guests good-night in the 
hall. He had noted her glance of disgust at her 
hand, and her hasty gesture of repulsion, and 


The Diiinei^ at Mr. WentwortH s. 127 


the sight had served to called up all the angry 
passions of his nature. 

Striding hastily towards Evelyn, he began : 

“You made a pretty spectacle of yourself, 
miss, just as our guests were leaving ; but I, at 
least, was not surprised — as your conduct all 
through dinner, and afterwards, was a leading 
up to the amiable conclusion.” 

It was too much, coming after all that went 
before, and the outraged feelings of the girl arose 
in swift rebellion. 

“ Father,” she exclaimed, while the hot flush 
of excitement tinged her face and neck, “ I have 
never disobeyed you in aught before, but I will 
not, cannot receive the attentions of that man. I 
abhor, I utterly detest him, clergyman though he 
be.” And wrought up by the pent-up feelings 
that had been gathering all the evening, she burst 
out in passionate weeping. 

“Why, Herbert, what are you saying to the 
child?” demanded Mrs. Wentworth, her daugh- 
ter’s agitated tone and violent distress alarming 
her intensely as she came into the room. 


128 The Dinner at Mr. Wentw^rtli s. 


“ I was simply about to inform her, madam,” 
he replied, sharply, “ that I will be obeyed in 
this house, and that from henceforth, any guest 
of mine shall be treated with the highest re- 
spect.” 

“And I perfectly agree with you, my dear,” 
returned the lady, quietly, but firmly, “ that our 
guests shall always receive the courtesy they 
merit ; but let them look to themselves, if they 
overstep the bounds of decency and common pro- 
priety, as the Rev. Mr. Welton did to-night, for 
you will at least acknowledge, that he is not, as 
yet, Evelyn’s accepted suitor.” 

“ But I mean he shall be soon,” was the gen- 
tleman’s angry rejoinder, as he hastily left the 


room. 


A Lift m Life, 


129 


CHAPTER VIIL 

A LIFT m LIFE. 

M r. RICHARDS, I wish to ask you a 
question or two,” said Horace Stewart, 
one evening, addressing the superintendent of 
the Silverton Bronze Co., as the two met in the 
corridor of the principal hotel in the place. 

“Certainly, sir, certainly,” was the answer, 
as the elder man led the way to his own apart- 
ments in the hotel. 

“I wish to ask you,” began the younger, 
when both were seated, ‘4f it would cause you 
much inconvenience to be asked to part with 
your young assistant, Frank Markham ?” 

“ If 1 were asked to part with him, I would 
be puzzled to know why,” answered Mr. Richards, 
with a smile. 

“Yes, yes,” returned the other, with some 

amusement, “I should have said, can you be 
6 * 


130 


A Lift i?i Life, 


induced to part with him, or would you consider 
it an injury if I were to seek to take him from 
you 

‘‘Well,” answered the old man slowly, “it 
would depend of course on the circumstances. 
Perhaps you will be good enough to explain.” 

“ I will do so. Perhaps you are aware that my 
business has increased so very largely during the 
last year or two, that I have been trying to pro- 
cure an assistant in my own department, as gene- 
ral manager of the under-bosses, and in fact to fill 
the place for me, that you yourself occupy for 
the larger company. Well, I have watched your 
young foreman’s career, and young as he is, he is 
the only man, — in Silverton, that is, —who is capa- 
ble and eligible, to whom I would offer the position. 
He has been with your concern, I know, for years, 
as boy and man, and I could not think of speak 
ing to him, until I had seen you first. But you 
will remember, Mr. Richards, that it is perhaps a 
better position for the young man, than he could 
ever hox)e to attain in your factory, where he is, 
perhaps, the youngest foreman.” 


Yes, it certainly was a better position for his 
favorite, the old man acknowledged to himself, 
than he could ever win under the baneful influ- 
ence of the chief, whose ill-concealed dislike for 
Frank had ever been patent to the eyes of the 
kind old superintendent. 

It was a lift, indeed, for his young friend, and 
the heart of the old superintendent leaped joy- 
fully within him, but he was too much of a busi- 
ness man to let his thought be known. 

“ Well, it would be years, of course,” he only 
said, “before the young man could win a posi- 
tion with us, equal to what you speak of ; but 
Frank is sure to climb, however long he may be 
in winning, to the top. He is trustworthy to the 
last degree, and smart to the finger end though, 
and I have watched his career long enough to 
know, he is too conscientious to take the least 
advantage to further himself at the expense of 
another.” 

“ And it is just for all those qualities in his 
favor that I wish to take him from you, so I 
hope that you will interpose no objections to my 


132 


A Lift m Life, 


plan,” said the younger man, looking with smil- 
ing anxiety in the serious face of his companion. 

“ Well, Mr. Stewart,” returned the other, ‘‘ to 
be candid with you, I am sure that the position 
is a lift in life for Frank, whom I have learned to 
esteem, and even to be fond of, in a way. You 
see,” he added, deprecatingly, “ I have no son of 
my own, and I would not stand in the way of his 
advancement ; therefore, you have my best 
wishes for your success.” 

‘‘Then 1 will consider myself at liberty to 
make him the offer,” concluded Mr. Stewart, as 
he bade the elder gentleman good-evening. 

“Well, Sis!” began Horace Stewart, the next 
evening at dinner. “I have taken your advice 
at last, and engaged an assistant to help me man- 
age the business at the factory. He is rather 
young, it is true,” he continued, musingly — “only 
twenty-five or so — but, young as he is, he is fully 
up to all the requirements of the business of such 
a comparatively small concern as ours.” 

“ Why, who is this paragon, Horace ?” asked 


A Lift in Life. 


133 


his sister, pausing in her work of helping her 
brother to gravy. 

“ Oh, you must know him ; he is quite well- 
known in our set, though he lives quite plainly 
in a little cottage up on the north road. His 
mother is a widow and they live quite alone. 
Frank Markham, his name is, and he has been 
employed ten years or more by the Silverton 
Company. But hold. Sis, take care, you are 
spilling all the gravy ! Now, if it were I that 
soiled your snowy damask, what a row there 
would be, to be sure.’’ 

“Yes, T know who you mean,” returned 
Magery, stooping hastily to cover the soiled spot 
on the table-cloth with a napkin, but, in reality, 
to hide the extreme agitation at hearing her 
brother’s extraordinary announcement. 

Frank Markham ! She could scarcely credit 
her senses. 

“I am glad you have found some one, at 
last,” she said presently, having succeeded in 
conquering the outward signs of amazement. 


134 


A Lift in Life. 


“ I hope that you will be able to take a rest now, 
at times.” 

‘‘Oh, yes,” he replied. “Young Markham is 
both competent and reliable, and I consider my- 
self fortunate in securing him, for I fancy that 
the Silverton Company will come to find out bj- 
and-by what they have lost, in losing him. He 
is full of talent, and honest to the core — just the 
very man I would like for a partner, if all goes 
well.” 

Strange, that the mere mention of the young 
man’s name should cause Margery’s heart to 
throb so wildly, and her pulses to thrill with 
13leasurable emotion, as she sat and listened, 
while her brother recounted his plans — plans 
that would bring into familiar intimacy with 
them both, this young man, whose grave brown 
eyes had long told her, what she felt assured his 
lips would one day speak — the story, that put in 
words, she would be so fain to listen to. 

For it had come to this with Margery Stewart, 
that her first young love was only hidden care- 




A Lift in. Life. 


135 


fully in the secret silence of her own heart, until 
he would claim it for his own. 

But, knowing nothing of his young sister’s 
secret, Horace Stewart went on to relate to her 
all the particulars of the business relation just 
formed between himself and Frank, and so 
interested was he in its recital that her preoccu-. 
pied manner never appeared strange to him, 
though more than once he was forced to repeat 
some sentence to her. 

“I have left the Silverton Manufacturing 
Company, mother. Hurrah !” exclaimed Frank 
Markham, the same evening, as he entered his 
snug little home, in the pretty kitchen of which 
his mother was just preparing to dish the even- 
ing meal, half supper, half tea, that their separate 
tastes required. 

“Left the factory, Frank?” echoed his moth- 
er, turning around in the act of dishing a stewed 
chicken, her son’s especial treat. “Why, what 
are you going to do now ?” And she set the dish 
down, and stood looking anxiously at him. . 


136 


A Lift in Life. 


“Well, now, mother, you know how anxious 
you were once, that I should be a gentleman, and 
how very determined I was to be a workingman. 
Now, what should you say if I should tell you 
that I am going to combine both those very — in 
your English eyes — incongruant characters V’ 
And he smiled gayly, as he waited for her an- 
swer. 

“You are right, Frank,” she said. “ I was fool- 
ish enough once, to think, with my Old World 
prejudice, that a mere workman could never be a 
gentleman ; and for your father’s sake I was 
anxious that you should be the latter. But all 
these years in free America, have taught me better. 
You have grown up a worker from boyhood, and 
I should just like to hear anyone say that you 
are not a gentleman,” and the fond, old mother 
looked proudly at her son. Then returning to the 
first topic, “But what do you mean 1 Why have 
you left the factory ?” 

“In fact, mother,” he answered, “I have 
secured a better place, as your little handmaid 
told you the other day, when you demanded the 


A Lift in Life, 


137 


reasons for her leaving you. I have entered into 
an engagement with Mr. Horace Stewart, to be 
assistant superintendent under himself, for, you 
know, he has hitherto attended to it all himself ; 
but of late, his business has increased in sale and 
profit as he told me, so that he is obliged to have 
help, and he has done me the extraordinary com- 
pliment of believing that I am the person to do 
it. It is a grand opportunity, mother,” he con- 
tinued, for he holds out a promise of taking me 
into partnership, if we get on. Think of that, 
mother,” he exclaimed, exultingly, as he looked 
fondly at her, bringing only to her heart a pang 
of bitter remembrance, — just such a look as that 
shone in the eyes of his father, one summer morn- 
ing long ago, as they sat, he and she, on a breezy 
cliff in her native hamlet, and he was telling 
her of his glorious native land, and how all were 
equal there. But she smothered the pang and 
listened to her son, who was thinking how this 
lift in life was drawing him nearer to his heart’s 
desire, how this promised partnership, would so 
aptly pave the way to a life partnership with 


138 


A Lift in Life, 


sweet Mistress Margery, as his wife — so very bold 
indeed, at least in thought, had this hero grown 
to be. 

I am glad, for your sake,’’ said his mother, 
slowly, at length, “ that you will be independent 
of that proud Mr. Wentworth. And indeed,” she 
added vindictively, “ I do hope that he will come 
to know how much he has lost by letting you 
leave his factory,” for a rooted antipathy to the 
great man of Silverton, had grown to be the pet 
foible of this strange woman. 

“Well, mother,” laughed her son, “you must 
have a high opinion of my talents, if you think I 
cannot be quite easily replaced by any of the 
other workmen, who has a thorough knowledge 
of the business, and there are several who are 
even longer in the factory than I was. And indeed 
with the exceiDtion of Mr. Richards, the superin- 
tendent, I was becoming rather unpopular of late, 
among the bosses. And 1 assure you, mother,” he 
added seriously, “that this timely and I may say 
splendid offer of Mr. Stewart’s, is just a God- 
send to me, and nothing less. Why, it was only the 


^ Lift in Life. 


139 


other day, that the old man, Mr. Eichards, called 
me into the office, and gave me a hint, — a plain one 
too, — that I was being noticed by some of the com- 
pany who were taking umbrage at what they 
called encouraging the men in their complain- 
ings.” 

‘‘ Ah, but Frank,” said his mother, “ suppose 
Mr. Stewart himself should hear that — it might 
make a difference.” 

“ Have no fear of that, mother,” he answered. 
‘‘ I explained fully to my new employer my exact 
sentiments in regard to my opinions in relation 
to the workmen’s rights, and I found, to my 
pleasure, that he shares them fully, for he de- 
clared to me that he would not keep his factory 
open a single day at the expense of curtailing his 
men of a tithe of their just due. Oh, he is not 
the least afraid of my radical principles, I assure 
you, mother, and we have both signed the arti- 
cles of agreement for two years ; and that re- 
minds me, mother,” he continued, looking 
earnestly at her, “that I won’t have you work- 
ing so hard in future ; you must really get some 


140 


A Lift in Life, 


one to do the housework. Though of course,’’ 
he added, playfully, quickly noting the cloud 
stealing over her face, “you must still be my 
housekeeper.” 

“As if I ever could get any one to do my 
work as I do it myself. I don’t believe it,” 
returned Mrs. Markham, with a look of ineffable 
scorn replacing the frown. “And only two of 
us, too ! Why, there is not enough for two women 
to do in the house. Indeed,” she added, medita- 
tively, “I wouldn’t Just know what to do with 
myself, with no housework to do. No, no, 
Frank, don’t ask me to try at this late day to be 
an idle woman ; save all your salary, all that you 
can, it will help you by and by to . reach that 
place in the world that I am sure your father 
belonged to,” she concluded, earnestly. For, sad 
to relate, this mother, who loved her only son 
second only to that memory, held so sacred in 
her widowed heart, never gave Jiiglier counsel to 
him than this worldly-wise advice ; religion in 
its higher, holier sense, she had never taught her 
only child, for, alas ! she had never learned it her- 


A Lift m Life. 


141 


self. Lovingly and carefully she had brought 
him up, but her whole ambition for him was that 
he would be a gentleman ; never thinking, poor 
mother, that he is the grandest, highest gentle- 
man, who is a true and worthy Christian. He 
whom she had so rashly and so fondly loved, the 
lost husband of her youth, had held the same 
light disregard for religion, and it had served to 
render her, in her blind idolatry of his memory, 
more reckless of the issue of salvation, ‘‘as if,” 
she would say, if questioned, “she ever wanted 
to go where he was not.” 

Contrary to what might be expected, with 
such example in his mother, Frank had grown 
up with a totally different idea of his duties 
toward God and man. 

While he set but little value on his social 
X)osition in the world, — excepting, at least, as it 
might serve to bring him nearer to the fulfillment 
of his hopes of winning the fair girl he loved, — he 
never changed in his one ambition — to win a place 
of independence for himself, but never at the ex- 
pense of the inalienable rights of his fellow-men. 


142 


A Lift in Life. 


For himself, he claimed the right to rise if possi- 
ble, through steady effort and persevering tal- 
ents but he would scorn to assist in any way in 
the oppression of others, perhaps not so fortu- 
nate in natural capacity or pushing ability as 
himself ; and with all these principles, hopes and 
ambitions, he, without parade or protestation, 
cherished a deep and abiding love and fear of 
God. 

And yet, he was the son of two people who 
had sought^’ on earth their gods and idols, only 
perchance to find them turn to clay and dross. 

As we have said, Frank never paraded his 
religion, nor did he undertake ever to lecture his 
mother as some goody youths are said to have 
done. She had, he knew, been to him, a devoted, 
tender parent, and he loved and cherished her in 
return; for the rest, he trusted in God’s power 
and her own innate goodness, to come to see 
the truth ere it would be too late. 

To her he was ever kindly and tolerant, so in 
answer to her refusal to be made an idle lady, he 
only laughed and said : 


A Lift in Life. 


143 


“Well, well, mother, you know 1 didn’t quite 
mean that, only I don’t want you to work so 
hard. Just get some one to do the rougher part 
of the housework. But mind,” and here he helped 
himself liberally to chicken, “I am sure that at 
least, you cannot be excelled in this depart- 
ment.” 

Now Frank,” smiled the gratified woman, 
as, sitting down opposite him at the neat little 
supper-table, their talk drifted into the various 
topics incident to his lift in life, until the happy 
mother, for the time, almost forgot their enemy, 
and something akin to a gratitude that had sel- 
dom if ever moved her heart, threatened to per- 
vade it now. 

Meantime a scene of different import was tak- 
ing place in the office of the Silverton Manufac- 
turing Company. 

The great machinery was still for the day, and 
the workmen, together with the office clerks had 
departed, leaving the night watchers to reign 
supreme in the great building for the night. 

In the handsomely furnished private office of 


144 


A Lift in Life. 


the chief of the company, sat that gentleman 
himself, in earnest conversation with his superin- 
tendent, Mr. Kichards. 

“All that you say may be true,” remarked 
Mr. Wentworth, looking into his companion’s 
face, with something of sarcasm in his own, 
“ but I think, indeed I am quite sure that we can 
fill his x)lace with a better man ; right here among 
the workmen.” 

“Of course you may be right,” assented the 
old man, “but I doubt it. However, we must do 
without him, so we had better put some one in 
his place, as soon as i^ossible, as I must have a 
man to look over the work.” 

“ Yes, I know that you must have a man im- 
mediately,” returned his superior, thoughtfully. 
Then as if a thought had just struck him. “What 
do you think of Joseph Banks ? He is a first rate 
workman, and would, I think, be just the man.” 

“Joe Banks !” echoed Mr. Richards. “ Why, he 
is the worst old grumbler in the whole factory. I 
should never pick him out from among the men 
to put over them ; he is in the constant habit of 


A Lijt in Life, 


145 


haranguing his fellows, when he can get them 
to listen to him, on the tyranny of the bosses, 
and the hardships of the workmen.” 

“ Well, suppose we give him a taste of bossing, 
just to see how it suits him,” said Mr. Went- 
worth, in the tone he used when meaning to be 
obeyed. 

“Oh, it’s just as you say,” returned Mr. 
E/ichards, somewhat nettled to perceive that his 
superior had formed his determination in regard 
to Frank’s successor, ere asking his opinion. 
“But I may as well remark,” he added, some- 
what coldly, “ that it is my settled opinion that 
you are selecting the worst man you could pick 
out to fill the place, and I wash my hands of the 
responsibility.” 

“I am quite willing you should, Mr. Eich- 
ards,” was his superior’s answer, as, smiling 
blandly, he prepared to leave the office, whence 
the superintendent soon followed him, sighing 
heavily, for, with the keen perception of long 
experience, he foresaw plainly, that trouble to 
both bosses and men would surely ensue, from 
7 


146 


A Lift in Life. 


what he could only term his superior’s very un> 
wise selection. 

Perhaps .in all the whole factory, the next 
morning, not one was more taken aback with gem 
nine surprise, that Joe Banks himself, when he 
was informed of the change in his prospects. 

That he, who had always been foremost in 
complaint of all that served to interfere with the 
just and fancied rights of him and his mates — that 
he should be chosen from among them all, to fill 
a position of trust and responsibility, completely 
astonished and perplexed him, until, his native 
cheek coming to his aid, he remembered his high 
abilities and knew that they were recognized, at 
last. 

That he was not long in recovering his usual 
nonchalance was only a type of his self-esteem 
and great belief in his new-found worth to the 
great company, that, until now, had so com- 
pletely ignored him. 

And it was characteristic of him, that his 
very first act was to rebuke some of his former 
mates, for what he called undue familiarity. 


A Lift in Life. 


147 


‘‘Mr. Banks, if you please,” he observed, 
sternly to the offender, who had just laid down a 
piece of work before the new foreman. 

“Oh, it’s Mr. Banks, is it?” returned the 
other, with a grin. “Well, I’m much afraid, Mr. 
Banks,” laying great stress on the Mr., “that 
I’ll not be able to get my unruly tongue around 
your very new title at all times. You see,” he 
added, with a look of comical gravity, at the lis- 
tener, “I’ve been so long used to calling you 
plain Joe, and more often Old Banks, that it will 
come hard, and no mistake, to remember to call 
you Mr. Banks. However, Mr. Banks, I’ll try to 
Jieep it in mind, to never forget that you’re not 
Joe Banks, nor likewise. Old Banks any more.” 
And the facetious workman was about to return 
to his own department, when, as if just remember- 
ing something, he turned again, saying, “Oh, 
Mr. Banks,” and he bowed lowly, “ shall I finish 
up all those ink rests, you know, Mr. Banks, that 
are on my bench, Mr. Banks.” 

“ Go back to your work this instant, and quit 


148 


A Lift in Life. 


your impertinence,” roared the olf ended fore- 
man.” 

“Certainly, Mr. Banks,” returned the imper- 
turbable workman, as he left the room, amid the 
irrepressible and loud laughter of the other work- 
men. 

And this was Joe Banks's lift in life. 


In a Workman! s Home, 


M9 


CHAPTER IX. 

IN A workman’s home. 

T he winter days lengthened into weeks and 
months, until, as the soft breath of spring 
blew, came up over the hills of Silverton, the last 
remnant of frost drifted off and away to more 
northern climes, to linger until the hot breath of 
summer wafted it to destruction. 

It had been an unusually cold winter, too, 
and a troublous one to many of the people of 
Silverton ; for work had been dull and scarce 
too, and, to add to all the rest, the wages had 
been again reduced in most of the factories, nota- 
bly in the largest, the Silverton Bronze ComjDany, 
and the consequence was, that those of the work- 
men w'ho had been heretofore able to enjoy the 
comforts, and indeed, many of the luxuries of 
life, were hard set of late to procure the most 
urgent necessities of life, while for those more 
unfortunate ones who had just contrived to live 


In a Workmans Home. 


150 


before, were driven to expedients to keeiD soul 
and body together. 

To the dwellers in the great and busy metrop- 
olis, with its miles of railroads above and beside 
them, its din and bustle of immense traffic, its 
wealth and poverty almost side by side, a sight 
of the rural beauty of Silverton in the glory of 
springtide, would be sweet and refreshing. 

On the main streets, the mansions of the 
wealthier classes, standing in spacious, well-kept 
grounds, laid out in artistic taste and beauty, 
while on the more unpretending streets stood the 
pretty cottages and comfortable homesteads of 
the workmen and their families. 

True, if sought out, some unsightly places 
were to be found, even in bonny Silverton ; but 
take it as it was on that fair spring nlorning, it 
was a favorable specimen of a thriving New Eng- 
land city. 

In the sitting-room of one of the cottages 
above mentioned, sat a woman, busily engaged 
over the mending of a large basket of clothes be- 
side her. On ordinary occasions, Mrs. Parkins was 


In a Workman s Home. 


151 


a rather prepossessing-looking matron, but just 
now a frown of annoyance puckered her brow, 
and an angry curve spoiled the expression of her 
mouth, as she remarked scornfully, to a tall girl 
of fourteen or so, who sat in the light of the bay- 
window, an open school-book in her lap, but her 
attention directed to her mother : 

‘‘It’s all very well for Mrs. Banks to talk of 
the injustice of taking you and Harry from school, 
but I just wish I bad her income, and I would 
not be forced to send you both to work.^ But I’ll 
tell you what, Lizzie,” and her face brightened 
up at the thought, “ you need not quite despair 
of still getting an education. You remember Nel- 
lie Brown, how when her folks became reduced 
in their means, she just went to work and earned 
the price of her own education — well, now, why 
can’t you 

“I suppose I could, mother,” said the girl, 
hesitatingly, “but if you don’t need my earnings, 
why need I leave school at all?” 

“But I do need your help, Lizzie, more’s the 
pity,” returned her mother, with a sigh. “But let 


152 


In a Workmans Home. 


me explain : you know that Mr. Richards has 
promised to give you a place in the i^acking 
room, the pay will be small at first, but will in- 
crease after a time ; you are well and strong and 
the work is light, and you can keep up your 
studies in the evenings. Now I propose to lay 
aside a portion of your earnings regularly, until 
we are able to send you to the Normal school, 
to complete your education, and compete for a 
teacher’s position.” 

‘‘ Oh,“mother, can we ?” exclaimed Lizzie, her 
excitement showing plainly, how deep had been 
her disappointment at the threatened shattering 
of her hopes to win an education. 

‘‘Yes, Lizzie, I think we can manage it ; but 
I’ll be obliged to do the washing myself, with 
Nora’s help, by keeping her home from school a 
half-day Mondays. I hate to do it,” she contin- 
ued, “ she is getting on so well in her studies; 
but it’s the only way.” 

“ Mother !” here interrupted a big boy, a 
year or so older than Lizzie, entering the room 


In a Workmans Home, 


153 


suddenly, “is it true that father says that I’m 
to leave school next week, to go to work 

“I’m afraid it is, Harry,” she answered. 
“ But why should you complain % Lizzie is a girl 
and younger than you, and she must go to work 
too.” 

“But father always said,” declared the boy, 
with heat, “ that I should go to the high school if 
I passed this year ; and, now when I’m sure to do 
so, I must just let it all go, and go to work. I 
declare, it’s just real mean.” And he flung him- 
self down in the nearest chair and fairly sobbed. 

For a moment the mother watched him, with 
something of scorn in the expression of her face, 
brought there by her knowledge of the selflsh- 
ness of her boy’s character, then said quietly, 
“For shame, Henry ! a great boy like you to cry 
for such a cause, as if going to work at your age 
was utter ruin. You must remember,” she con- 
tinued, “ that when your father and I talked of 
letting you try for the high school, we did not 
known that our income was to be so greatly 
reduced as it is now. As it is, there is really no 


154 


In a Workmans Home. 


help for it, but to let both your sister and your- 
self go to work to help keep the family together. 
And I can tell you, Harry,” she added, “that 
there are many boys in worse plight than ever 
you are : you are turned fifteen, and the chance 
to learn a trade with moderate wages, which Mr. 
Stewart had promised for you, is a chance we 
would not dare to let go.” And with a sigh of 
utter weariness, the mother turned once more to 
her mending. But a knock at the kitchen door 
brought a new^-comer on the scene. 

“ Good morning, Mrs. Joice, sit down,” she 
said, pleasantly, to a tired-looking woman, who 
looked around at the group and the neat-looking 
sitting-room, with a i)athetic yearning in her 
faded eyes. 

“I’m so sorry,” began Mrs. Parkins, “but 
I’m afraid I’ll have to do the washing myself, 
Mrs. Joice, times are so very hard you know^ 
and money is scarce.” 

“Indeed I know that well,” answered the 
woman, with a look of bitter disappointment 


In a Workman s Home. 


155 


that went to the kind heart of her hostess, for 
she hastened to add : 

‘‘ Well, I had made up my mind to do all the 
washing myself, with the children’s assistance, 
for with James’ wages reduced, I find it hard to 
pay for it ; but I’ll tell you what I’ll do, Mrs. 
Joice, suppose you come here a day once a fort- 
night and do the heft of the wash, and I can 
do a small one myself every week ; if that suits 
you, I won’t feel as if I’m taking it all away from 
you.” 

“ Oh, I’ll come, and glad to do it. I’m going 
out three days in the week,” returned the other, 
her eyes all the while fast gazing on the sulky 
Harry, who, feeling ashamed of his temper, sat 
moodily hanging his head. 

“Harry’s just beep making a baby of him- 
self,” said his mother, “ because he is obliged to 
leave school and go to learn a trade ; but I’ve 
been telling him that he’s fortunate beside some 
who cannot get such a chance.” 

“Yes, he is fortunate, as you say,” answered 
Mrs. Joice, furtively scanning the boy’s cloudy 




In a Workmans Home, 


156 


countenance, with a poor attempt to smile ; but 
the poor smile died away in a contraction of 
pain, for she was thinking, poor woman, of 
another boy — her only son — who for lack of the 
work that seemed so distasteful to Harry, had 
been forced to leave her and go to sea. That was 
three years ago, and she had never once heard 
from him since. No wonder, then, that her heart 
ached with unutterable longing, nor that she 
looked with something like envy at the inmates 
of this home where all its members were per- 
mitted to remain together in its shelter. 

Oh, if her Johnnie had only been able to pro- 
cure such work as Harry was shrinking from 
now. But so it is in life with us all, the blessings 
we receive often thanklessly, would be welcomed 
by our less fortunate neighbors as the most boun- 
tiful gifts. 

And to the constant fear at her heart for his 
safety, was added the bitter knowledge that it 
was the endless poverty and ceaseless complain- 
ing at home that had driven her boy away, per- 
haps never to come back to her again. 


In a Workmans Home, 


157 


But by this time Harry was ashamed of his 
babyish weakness, so, with a toss of his head, 
was trying to look as careless as possible, while 
his mother, watching the bereaved mother’s 
yearning glances, remembered that here was a 
sorrow and poverty even greater than hers, who 
yet had all her dear ones around her. 

“I wish that I could do better for you, Mrs. 
Joice,” she said, kindly, “but times are so 
hard.” 

“Yes, ma’am, I know it,” returned the other, 
arousing herself with an effort. “ But will Tues- 
day do for me to come? I’m engaged on the 
Mondays to wash at Harris’s.” 

“Oh, yes, Tuesday will do, and here is the 
money for the last wash.” And Mrs. Parkins 
counted it out in the woman’s hand with no 
indication in her manner that it was the last in 
her x>ocket-book, until her husband’s scanty 
wages would become due. 

“And now, Harry” she said, when the poor 
woman had left, “ I hope that you will remember 


158 


In a Workmmis Home. 


that: there are others worse off than you are, and 
be more of a man in future.” 

But as Harry was just a boy, — no better and 
no worse than the majority of boys, — the lesson 
failed to impress him very deeply, though he 
said no more in opposition to the plans laid out 
for his future ; in truth, he was not particularly 
devoted to learning, like his sister. He had been 
filled with a desire to be a gentleman, and the 
entrance to that favorite walk in life, he fancied 
was through the high school. 

A half-hour later, the two elder children had 
departed for school, which they were to attend 
for the remainder of the term, and Mrs. Parkins 
sat alone, finishing her mending, glancing, now 
and then, out to where the younger children were 
playing in the shaded porch, and as she stitched 
busily at patch and rent, she wondered drearily 
how she was ever going to make ends meet on 
her contracted income. 

Ah, poor woman, were she gifted with second 
sight, and could at that moment have looked in 
at the scene just^^then enacting in the finishing 


In a Workmans Home. 


• 159 


department of the Silverton Bronze Co., she 
would have deemed her troubles but commenced, 
her present annoyances but trifles in comparison. 
As it was, she was yet in blissful ignorance of 
the weight of care hovering over her, as looking 
at the clock and noting the passage of the morn- 
ing hours, she put away her mending and went 
out to the little kitchen to set about the j)i*epar- 
ing the noonday meal. 

Meanwhile, in the little office devoted to the 
use of the superintendent, Mr. Richards, James 
Parkins was excitedly demanding the small 
amount of wages due him for the preceding 
weeks. 

‘‘Why, man,” Mr. Richards was saying, 
“you’d better wait, until you think it over, 
before going off like that.” 

“ I'd better waited !” he retorted. “You think, 
Mr. Richards, that I have not thought it over 
many times these six months, ever since that Joe 
Banks has been set over us. Yes, I’ve thought 
it over so well,” he added grimly, “that if it 
were not for that little woman at home and the 


i6o 


In a Workman s Home, 


children, I’d have pitched into him long ago, and 
thrashed him within an inch of his life ; for you 
know yourself, Mr. Richards, that it’s more than 
flesh and blood can stand, his overbearing inso- 
lence and constant fault-finding with work, that 
I’ve done for twenty years and no fault found 
before. No, no. I’ve thought it over, and I can 
stand it no longer. Please let me have what’s 
coming to me and let me go, Mr. Richards ; it will 
go hard, but I’ll get as good a job elsewhere as 
I’ve had here the last six months.” 

At that moment the office door opened and 
Mr. Wentworth entered. 

“AVhat’s the matter, Parkins?” he inquired 
blandly, looking from one to the other of the 
men. 

“Not much, Mr. Wentworth,” replied the 
workman, “ only that I find it impossible to win 
the good graces of the gentleman, Mr. Banks, 
whom you have put in power over us.” 

“Ah, that’s unfortunate,” remarked the gen- 
tleman carelessly, as he turned over the pages of 
a ledger on the desk. 


In a Workman s Home, 


i6i 


‘‘And perhaps Mr. Wentworth will bear me 
up in saying, Parkins,” interposed Mr. Richards, 
“that we have no desire to let yon leave the 
company’s service, and you had better return to 
your bench.” 

“Oh, certainly, certainly,” returned the 
chief; “just make your apology to Banks and 
return to your work.” 

“I can have no apology to make to Joe 
Banks whatever, and that settles it,” declared 
Parkins bitterly, as Mr. Richards turned to his 
desk to look over his time book and Mr. Went- 
worth went carelessly out. 

But he returned when Parkins had left, to 
say, with something of an angry inflection in his 
voice: “Yon will remember to make the men 
understand, Richards, that Joseph Banks is fore- 
man over them, henceforth, and that I mean that 
he shall be obeyed.” 

“They can scarcely fail to be aware of that 
fact, sir,” returned the other dryly,” as the 
gentleman informs them repeatedly. “ But I would 
like to ask you, Mr. Wentworth,” he added seri- 


i 62 


In a Workman s Home, 


ously, ‘‘ii it is your desire to strip the factory 
of all our best workmen \ That man just gone is 
the fourth in a month who has been driven away 
from us by the arbitrary and injudicious tyranny 
of the man Banks, who, whatever his other qual- 
ities, is, in my judgment, not the person for the 
place you have put him in.” 

“ And in that we differ, widely,” rejoined his 
superior, “as we have done before at times ; but 
it happens that I entertain quite a different opin- 
ion of Banks’s qualities.” 

“ Very well, sir,” retorted the superintendent. 
“ Then perhaps, when he has succeeded in driv- 
ing all our best workmen away from us, you will 
come to my way of thinking ; until then, I am 
willing to wait ;” and he went hastily from the 
office, leaving his chief to stay or go as he listed. 

For it was but the simple truth Mr. Richards 
had spoken, though it seemed distasteful to Mr. 
Wentworth. 

From a noisy, declaiming demagogue, he had 
become a time-serving, tyrannical advocate of 
what he termed the company’s interest; and to 


In a Workman s Home, 


163 


any who had heretofore listened to Joe Banks’s 
rebellious oratory, his present stand would seem 
an utter incongruity. 

And it was all in vain that the aged superin- 
tendent remonstrated. Mr. Banks, — as he desired 
to be styled now, — would persist in bullying and 
badgering the men, until, as we have seen, sev- 
eral of the best workmen were forced to leave 
and seek work in other factories, where life was 
not made an unbearable burden to the workmen. 

In some inexplicable manner, he had won the 
good-will of Mr. Wentworth, whose wishes ruled 
the rest of the company ; but that he failed to 
impress his authority on the men was evident to 
an observer, on the morning during which the 
above scene occurred. 

“I say, William,” called out the facetious 
Tom Peters, to his fellow- workmen, “we don’t 
get any sermon on the rights of the working 
classes now, since Joe Banks got elevated into a 
boss.” 

“No,” returned the other, “it’s all the com- 
pany’s rights now. But I’m thinking the com- 


164 


In a Workmans Home, 


pany will have its hands full one of these days— 
full of orders, with no good workmen to fill them. 
I know I, for one, won’t stand much more of his 
insolent chaff ; as if he, a third-rate workman, 
was going to be let bully old hands that worked 
faithfully for the company, as he’s so fond of 
calling it, before he was heard tell of out of his 
native village ! But here he comes now, flushed 
with victory, after ousting Jim Parkins.” 

“ You fellows better keep still and attend to 
your work,” was the new foreman’s angry out- 
burst, as he looked suspiciously at Peters. “I’d 
like to know,” he continued, “if you call your- 
selves honest men, when you steal the company’s 
time to carry on seditious conversations 

“And I’d like to ask you, Mr. Banks,” 
retorted the imperturbable Tom, “ when you came 
to adopt that view of the matter \ Why, I 
remember, fellows,” he declared, solemnly, look- 
ing around at them, all, as if trying to impress 
them with a belief in his veracity, “ I can remem- 
ber the time when Joe Banks, — he that’s Mr. 
Banks now,” he hastened to add, “was the 


In a Workmans Home, 


165 


greatest orator among us ; and the subject of bis 
learned discourse was ever and always the wrongs 
of the workmen, and the tyranny of the bosses. 
And that reminds me, Mr. Banks,” and here he 
looked severely at the angry foreman, “how very 
much you must be in the company’s debt, if you 
charge yourself all the time you used to steal 
them times.” 

That last was too much for the risibles of the 
men to stand, and they broke out into an irre- 
pressible roar that astounded Mr. Richards, who 
was at that moment entering from the stair pas- 
sage. 

But he only glanced and passed on ; it 
required not much penetration to see that the 
men were laughing at some blunder of the chief’s 
protegee, but the superintendent scorned to 
interfere, so left him to set himself right as best 
he could. 

“You’ll be marching after your friend Jim 
Parkins, if you don’t learn to keep a civil tongue 
in your head,” threatened the foreman. 

“Haven’t time to learn anything new, Mr. 


In a Workman s Home. 


1 66 


Banks,” was the irrepressible Tom’s answer, as 
he turned to his work with a readiness that left 
no loophole for the angry foreman’s spleen to 
vent itself upon, forcing him to put off for the 
present the satisfaction he meant to have, for the 
man’s evident contempt. 


Evelyns Answer. 


167 


CHAPTER X. 

Evelyn’s answer. 

we fill this order in the time named, 
\_J Markham?” questioned Mr. Stewart, one 
morning ; and he read over to his young subord- 
inate a list of the articles ordered by a large city 
house. 

“ Oh, yes ; I think we can,” was the answer, 
in a decided tone. “ With the new hands we have 
just taken on, we can do even that order in the 
time named. Parkins and Bentley are the two 
best workmen I know of in the trade ; I cannot 
think why Richards ever let them leave the fac- 
tory. However, that’s no concern of ours.” 

“Xo,” returned Mr. Stewart, musingly ; “and 
yet I can’t but wonder that they let their best 
hands leave in the midst of their hurry, for I 
know of a very large order that has been turned 
away from them, owing to their inability to finish 
it in the time required.” 


Evelyns Answer. 


1 68 


‘‘ 1 was speaking to Mr. Richards last night,” 
said Frank, turning ere he left the room, and he 
says that it’s a positive fact that the men don’t 
run out half the work they used to before they 
were cut down ; and he says, too, that their work 
is of an inferior quality.” 

‘‘I don’t know but what he’s right, Frank. It 
stands to reason that men cannot have the same 
heart to work with their living cut down to the 
merest necessities. However, as you say, it’s no 
concern of ours — excepting, Frank,” and he 
looked gravely at his companion, ^‘as it warns 
us to treat our workmen in all honest fairness.” 

“Just so, sir,” w^as all Frank’s answer, as he 
went on his way. 

In another moment he was showing the order 
to a couple of the workmen, to whom he was 
saying : 

“ Can you men do your part of this order by 
to-morrow noon ?” 

“Yes, sir, and I don’ t see why we shouldn’ t !” 
was the simultaneous answer, given in the hearty 


Evelyns Answer. 


169 


iLanner, peculiar to well-used, contented work- 
men. 

‘‘ But you will have to work extra hard to 
get it done, boys !” said Frank, pleasantly. “ But 
it will lead to other and larger orders, if we fill 
this one in the specified time.” 

“ And as that will further our own interests 
as well as yours, Mr. Markham, we’ll do the 
very best we can,” returned Parkins, picking a 
crumb of dust from his bread. 

“A first-rate lesson on political economy,” 
declared Frank, laughingly, as he turned 
away. 

And here it may be remarked, as the reader 
has, no doubt, observed, that the obedience and 
respect the workmen had utterly refused to yield 
to the time-serving, upstart Banks, they gave with 
hearty readiness and frank good will to the 
young but true-hearted gentleman, Frank Mark- 
ham. Where black brows and sullen looks, and 
not infrequently open sneers met the ill-bred 
orders of their whilom mate, the courteous de- 
mands of the young foreman were attended with 
8 


170 


Evelyns Answer. 


a willing alacrity, born of their knowledge of his 
careful thoughtfulness of their feelings and inter 
est ; and in these qualities lie was only in union 
with his friend and superior, Mr. Stewart. Con- 
sequently, it was not to be wondered, at, that 
while discontent and ill-feeling were becoming the 
ruling features in the daily life at the larger fac- 
tory, — features that carried inevitably in their 
train ruin to the best interest of employers as 
well as employed, — on the other hand, a unity 
existed between the employers and men, in the 
Stewart factory, that, could not fail to draw 
towards them the lucrative gain and steady pros- 
perity that promised to render them the ruling 
factory in Silverton. 

“And now, Martha,” said James Parkins, one 
night a few weeks later, as the two sat together, 
when the children were in bed, “we can let the 
boy and girl go back to school in the fall,. can’t 
we? now that I’ve got such a fine promise of 
steady employment. And I declare, Martha,” he 
continued, “it’s just no trouble at all to work 
for such men as our bosses. No bullying and 


Evelyns Answer, 


171 


harping at men all the time, like the other fac- 
tory, until a man didn’ t care what he done, nor 
how. But about the children : they are both 
smart enough to go to the high school, and I 
would like to give them good educations.” 

‘‘Well, I don’t know,” returned the wife, 
soberly, “last spring, I thought just that way 
about Lizzie and Harry, but I’ve a different view 
of the matter now. That month’s idleness you 
had, taught me many things, and one of them 
was that we have no business to live right up to 
your earnings, even when you are on reduced 
pay ; for just to think of that time when we had 
not a dollar in the house and you out of work, 
makes my head dizzy. And that makes me think 
it would be the height of folly in us to take the 
boy and girl from the good places, where they 
are neither over- worked, nor very ill-paid, to send 
them to an expensive school, where they would 
be obliged to remain four or five years, and then, 
perhaps not learn how to get their own living. 
No, James,” concluded the wife, seriously, “let 
the children stay as they are ; Lizzie and I have 


172 


Evelyns Answer, 


made a compact, that is, that she is to have half 
of her wages to save until she has enough to pay 
her own expenses in <^1^6 Normal school, which 
she will try to enter. Lizzie has talents, and the 
capabilities for a teacher ; but as for Harry, I 
would just let him alone, James, to learn the 
trade he is at. I’ve studied Harry, I have, James, 
and if you should keep him at school until he 
was grown up, he would be as far from being able 
to get a living by his education as he is to-day. 
Harry is a good enough boy, and that is all. He 
will never set the world afire with his talents, 
though, indeed, I think and believe, that he will 
make a good tradesman.” 

i 

“Oh, I see,” laughed her husband. “Then 
you don’t think it requires any talents, whatever 
to make a good tradesman. Quite a compliment 
to me, that,” and he laughed softly. 

“Now, James,” remonstrated his wife, “you 
know very well that I did not mean that. But 
when we speak of giving children finished edu- 
cations, we do surely intend that they are to 
enter some profession, that of course requires 


Evelyns Answer. 


^73 


more brain talent and even genius, that the aver- 
age mechanic does not need ; and I really believe, 
James,” she added, ‘‘ that many good mechanics 
are spoiled in bad lawyers, doctors and mim 
isters.” 

“Well, I don’t know but what you’re right, 
Martha,” returned her husband. “ And speaking 
of ministers reminds me of that splendid speci- 
men of a minister of ours, the Reverend Mr. 
Welton. Now, I think that a first-rate sports- 
man was spoiled when they made him a minis- 
ter.” 

“Or a very successful politician,” said Mrs. 
Parkins, with a little scorn in her voice. “At 
least, anything in the world but a comforter of 
weary souls, or a winner of them, either. Why, 
it seems to me that lately I don’t take the same 
comfort in going to church that I did in poor, 
dear Mr. Winters’ time. I go, of course, just be- 
cause I can’t help thinking it right to go to God’s 
home on the Sabbath day, to observe it rightly ; 
but I never come home much improved by Mr. 
Welton’s preaching, for how can 11 He seems to 


174 


Evelyns Answer, 


be preaching in glorification of the wealthy 
classes, and never a word to the struggling poor. 
He’s a nice one, he is, to call himself a man of 
God. Now, Mr. Winter, he never 'told us quite 
so much about the clouds, the firmament and the 
horizon, and all the other grand figures of rhet- 
oric that embellish most of this grand gentle- 
man’s discourse. But he told us more of God’s 
love and mercy ; and his sweet sermons sent us 
home — at least they did me, I know — comforted 
and strengthened, to gc on in the weary struggle 
that we poor people must keep to live.” 

Mrs. Parkins did not know it, but she herself 
had just preached a sermon — a better one, i3er- 
haps, than the Rev. Morton Hurst Welton had 
ever preached in his life, albeit preaching was 
his profession ; and yet on this same summer 
evening that gentleman was engaged in a matter 
more congenial to his taste than speaking vrords 
of hopeful comfort to Mrs. Parkins, or any other 
of the humble ones of his fiock, could be. 

In the beautiful parlor of the Wentworth 
mansion the handsome minister had won at last 


Evelyns Answer. 


175 


the opportunity which Evelyn herself had ingen- 
iously evaded so long, and in this he had been 
aided by Mr. Wentworth, who was determined 
that his favorite should, at least, be given the 
chance of pleading his own cause ; and looking at 
the tall, graceful carriage and clear cut, hand- 
some features of his reverend friend, and know- 
ing the skill of language he possessed, Evelyn’s 
father felt assured, that, once heard, no maiden 
could withstand him, much less his timid, silent 
daughter. 

But that he augured foolishly will be seen 
presently. 

The parlor in the Wentworth mansion was, 
as we have said, a handsome apartment — rich 
upholstery, velvet carpet, and costly works of 
art, served to render it extremely attractive to 
the beholder. 

But fond as he was of admiring paintings and 
sculpture, and other costly luxuries, the Rev. 
Mr. Welton found something even more to his 
taste to admire on that fair spring evening, and 
his pulses vibrated with a joyful expectancy as 


Evelyns Answer. 


1 76 


he contemplated the exquisite drooping face that, 
he fondly assured himself, would soon be his 
own. 

True, she had evaded with a skill — remarkable 
in one so sweet and gentle-mannered — all chances 
of an interview with her reverend adorer, but 
that, he told himself, was only maiden coyness, 
a quality he rather liked than otherwise. And 
it may be added, too, that as this quality had 
been wanting in the charms of his former adored 
one’s, his desire to win sweet Evelyn was greatly 
heightened thereby. 

As for Evelyn, herself, she had long been 
aware of the honor that was intended for her, 
and while she had studiously avoided giving him 
the least encouragement to hope, she had been 
impelled, both through respect for his profession 
and her father’s express command, to treat his 
attentions with a measure of respect. 

But, if her shy avoidance of him only 
increased his passion, on the other hand, his 
steady persistence only rendered him the more 
repulsive in her eyes, knowing as he did, that 


Evelyns Answer, 


177 


her silent, and as far as she was concerned, 
unbroken engagement to Mr. Stewart, was a well- 
known fact to the reverend gentleman. 

However, it had come at last, the chance he 
had planned so often, and as often failed in. 

It was an inopportune moment, indeed, that 
the reverend lover had found, for it could 
scarcely be said that he had chosen this moment 
more than the other times when his desire had 
been baffled. 

Evelyn had been sitting quite alone in the 
family sitting-room, when the visitor was an- 
nounced. In the absence of her parents, only 
her most intimate friends were ushered into this 
cosy, warm-lighted room. She had been mus- 
ing drearily, too, over her unhappy love-affair — 
unhappy only in the sense that her father was 
still bitterly antagonistic to its fulfillment, and a 
bitter feeling against his injustice had formed 
itself in h^r heart, and just then the Kev. Mr. 
VVelton was announced. 

And so it was that what her ardent lover 
deemed was maiden shyness, as she coldly 
8 * 


178 


Evelyns Answer, 


shrank from his rather warm greeting, was in 
reality but deep resentment, that she — the 
pledged wife of one man — the man of her choice, 
should be subjected to the bold admiration and 
addresses of another. 

Seating herself as far from her visitor as 
politeness would permit, Evelyn began to dis- 
course on some light topic of interest to their set, 
and for some moments Mr. Welton followed her ; 
but as it was far away from his purpose to waste 
such a golden opportunity as this, he soon 
changed the toxuc. 

“My dear Miss Wentworth,” he began, “it 
can surely be no secret to you, my long and 
earnest admiration of your worth and beauty ; 
indeed, I may say with truth and candor, that 
never before had woman’s beauty the power to 
thrill my heart, nor her worth drawn forth the 
faith and homage, that I now offer at your feet, 
my dearest Evelyn and carried away by his 
love, which, through constant thwarting, had 
grown really' deep and earnest, he seized Evelyn’s 
unresisting hand, and would have kissed it pas- 


Evelyns Answer. 


179 


sionately, but that she hastily snatched it from 
his grasp. 

“Oh, stop, Mr. Welton,” she said, wearily. 
“ I am sorry that you should deem it necessary 
to say all this to me ; but at least I am not to 
blame for it, as I have never encouraged you to 
speak such words to me.” 

“Never encouraged me,” he resumed, smil- 
ing down in her flushed and aggrieved face. 
“Why, what have you been doing but leading 
me on every moment since first I set eyes on 
your matchless beauty. It needed no more 
encouragement, that love of mine,” he continued, 
“ than just to see you now and then, though you 
are right, he added, sadly, “you never gave me 
much to hang my hopes on.” 

“And why should you ever have hoped that 
I could listen to your suit, Mr. Welton,” re- 
turned Evelyn, a warm flush rising to the roots 
of her shining hair, “when you must have 
known, what is known to all my friends — that I 
am the promised wife of another^” And the 


i8o 


Evelyns Answer. 


graceful head drooped with a proud modesty at 
the brave avowal. 

“Oh, pshaw!” he returned, a little impa- 
tiently. “In common with the rest of your friends, 
I have heard of a foolish engagement, — the result 
of a girlish attachment, — which I am vain enough 
to believe my earnest devotion will have power to 
cure 5 'OU of; for I cannot think,” he added, 
seriously, that you mean to set that dead and 
gone engagement as a bar to our union. 1 am 
your pastor, you know,” and he looked down 
from the height of his eloquent wisdom in her 
flushed face, “and as such I could not counsel 
you wrongly.” 

But if the reverend gentleman thought to 
move this shrinking maiden by reminding her of 
his clerical character, he was in the wrong, as 
he learned the next moment. 

“I have not forgotten your sacred profession, 
Mr. Welton,” she returned, looking up at him 
with just a touch of scorn in her tones, “ but in 
the matter of the disposal of my life, I choose to 
take my conscience as my guide, and that impels 


Evelyns Answer. 


i8i 


me to keep sacred all my life the engagement 
that has never been broken between my promised 
husband and myself.” 

‘‘And in so far you are right, my dear,” he 
said soothingly. “ But the engagement can be 
broken. He would be a hound indeed who 
would hold you to a promise given, ere you had 
won experience or wisdom. So let us have done 
with all this talk of previous attachments, and 
tell me, Evelyn, darling, that you will be my dear 
and honored wife — that you will help me with 
your sweet influence to win souls to Grod.” 

“ It would be but a poor way to begin, by act- 
ing a lie myself,” was her answer. “No, Mr. 
Welton, please understand me. I can never, 
never, be your wife ; and when I tell you that I as 
dearly and fondly love my promised husband as 
he is devotedly attached to me, you will see the 
futility of pursuing the subject. And I trust,” 
she added, as she twined her hands together with 
a weary pathos that would have appealed to any 
other man than the one before her, “that you 


i 82 


Evelyns Answer. 


will understand the reason why I have spoken so 
plainly to yoi;.’’ 

‘‘I understand nothing,” he replied hastily. 
‘‘But that you are hard and cruel to me, Evelyn, 
but wait and think a moment, ere you decide for 
good and all. Yes, think a moment, ere you 
utterly refuse to be my wife. You are deeply 
religious, I know. Are you willing to throw over 
a respectable son of the church, a minister of 
religion, for a mere girlish sentiment ? And fur- 
ther, are you ready to destroy my usefulness to 
the church ? For I declare to you, Evelyn, that if 
you will not be my wife, I will throw up my vo- 
cation and seek amid the world’s enthrallment 
for a heart less hard than yours. And then, on the 
other hand, think what good you can do as my 
wife. Besides being the means of saving me, you 
can help others through your influence, as the 
j)opular minister’s wife. So come, my dearest 
Evelyn, say that the picture I have shown you, 
has opened ypnr sweet eyes to the danger you 
would incur by refusing to wed me.” 

Now if the Reverend Morton Hurst Wei ton 


Evelyns Answer. 


o 


liad searched his utmost eloquence for a speech 
that would serve to destroy in Evelyn’s heart 
what faint regard it had held for him, he could 
scarce' have succeeded better, as the sequel 
proved. 

‘‘You are right Mr. Welton,” she returned, 
looking up at him with a touch of sorrowful 
compassion in her beautiful eyes, “when you say 
that I am deeply religious, for indeed I can never 
doubt it, when I reflect that your words fail to 
destroy my holiest belief in religion. Why, 
sir !” and here she drew herself up with a proud 
gesture, “ what kind of a minister of religion 
do you call yourself, to seek to win me with such 
a bribe ? is your vocation so falsely rooted, that 
the refusal of a weak girl to share your life, has 
power to destroy it ? And oh, sir,” she continued, 
clasping her hands, with a bitter smile at his dar- 
kening face, “how could I hope to influence 
others, to do right, by doing so utterly wrong 
myself 

“ Then you are determined to brave your 
father’s certain anger?” he said, turning at length 


184 


Evelyns Answer. 


to Ms last weapon of coercion. ‘‘Remember 
that it is with his cordial consent that I address 
you, and I have good reason to know that he will 
never consent to your union with that Stewart. 
So i:>ause, Evelyn, before you decide. Your hopes 
of being Stewart’s wife are bound to fail. Would 
you continue to cherish a chimera, rather than 
accept my love that is ready to shield you from 
father and all ?” 

“Please understand me, Mr. Welton,” re- 
turned Evelyn, with a weary gesture, “ leaving 
all others out of the subject, I will never be your 
wife, and if my manner of saying so has served 
to wound you, you will remember that you have 
not spared my feelings. As for my father’s 
anger, while I am sorry that I cannot please him, 
I am not afraid to trust to his judgment of his 
only child.” 

“Is this final?” he asked, with suppressed 
passion. 

“1 wish you to consider it so,” she replied, 
firmly, looking fearlessly into his blazing eyes. 

“ Then prepare to accept the remorse that will 


Evelyns Answer. 


185 


surely be your portion one day, when you hear 
what my life has grown to be through your heart- 
lessness — when you learn of talents wasted, con- 
victions perverted, a high ambition shivered to 
atoms, then know it is your work.” 

‘‘ While I should grieve to hear of such an 
ending,” she returned, coldly, “ I would never be 
vain enough to deem myself the cause. But pray 
let us end this interview, sir ; it has failed utterly 
to increase our mutual respect.” 

“You are right. Miss Wentworth; it has 
failed in all good purposes ; on your head be the 
consequences.” And he took up his hat to 
leave. 

But for all answer Evelyn only bowed her 
head as she opened the door, and it was a sigh of 
relief she breathed when it closed on his retreat- 
ing form. 


A Startling Revelation. 


1 86 


CHAPTER XI. 

A STAKTLING REYELATION. 

I T was nearing the close of the term of Mr. 

Wei ton’s engagement as minister of the 
Granite Church, and a meeting of the church 
committee had been called to decide as to whether 
he should be re-engaged for the ensuing year. 

Still, as ever, his preaching drew crowds to 
hear him, and it was agreed on all sides that it 
was beneficial to the pecuniary interests of the 
church to retain him. 

But it began to be whispered, too, that his 
influence was not of a kind to further the salva- 
tion of the souls of them who listened to him. 
His high-flown rhetoric and glowing eloquence 
was apt to be tinged with a vein of satire that 
bordered on blasphemy, and filled the minds of 
his hearers with a puzzled wonder they were 
unable to explain. 

But they were not surprised, nor indeed were 


A Startling Revelation. 


187 


the earnest ones among them much dismayed to 
learn that he refused, to allow the question of his 
re-engagement to be considered, as he declined to 
accept a re-engagement in any case. 

But the meeting was held just the same, and 
in spite of Mr. Wentworth’s efforts, — for that gen- 
tleman desired to pay his friend the compliment 
of persuading him to stay on as the minister of 
the G-ranite Church, the committee coincided 
with the reverend gentleman’s desire to leave 
them, and once more they were without a head. 

“Perhaps you would like to recall old Win- 
ters again,” remarked Mr. Wentworth spitefully, 
when the conference was over. 

“We might do much worse, as we have done 
before,” retorted an old deacon, significantly. 

“ Oh, yes,” returned his opponent, “ I can 
understand how well he might suit some people, 
among whom first-rate talent is utterly thrown 
away.” 

“Mr. Wentworth,” answered the older man, 
“talent and genius are always to be admired, 
especially when devoted to the service of God ; 


A Startling Revelation. 


1 88 


but while I would pity the man who could will 
fully pervert those great gifts, I could never con- 
sent to aid him in his nefarious work ; therefore, I 
prefer the plain man with a Christian, honest 
purpose, to the grandest eloquence and most 
brilliant oratory that ever fell from the lips of 
our retiring friend. And I am much mistaken, Mr. 
Wentworth,” he added, “if time don’t bear me 
out in saying, that the Reverend Morton Hurst 
Welton has altogether mistaken his vocation.” 

“ Oh, as for that,” retorted the angry gentle- 
man, “I don’t go so far myself as to dissect 
men’s motives, and I will say that Mr. Welton’s 
principles were fully up to my standard.” 

“ That may be, sir. I do not doubt you in the 
least,” was the old deacon’s significant answer, as 
the meeting broke up. 

Nor was the disfavor into which his reverend 
favorite had fallen among the sincere members of 
the church, the only cause that tended to irritate 
Mr. Wentworth at this time. 

Everything seemed to combine together in the 
factory to render it a scene of contest and dis- 


A Startling Revelation, 


189 


union ; and there were even occasions, when the 
chief of the once flourishing company wished de- 
voutly, in the silence of his own heart, that he 
had never committed the blunder of setting the 
time-serving Joseph Banks over his fellows. 

For, that it had been a blunder, was becoming 
plain to some of the other members of the com- 
pany, who, noting the falling off of their best 
trade, which was flowing swift and sure to the 
other factory, where the larger part of their best 
men had gone, began to look into the cause. 

But while fully conscious at last of the very 
evident incapacity of his j)rotegee, Mr. Went- 
worth was nevertheless too proud to acknowledge 
his own want of perception. Therefore, while 
secretely determining to supersede the obnoxious 
foreman, he refused to listen to aught in his dis- 
praise, thus giving amifle scope for the nian’s 
further pompous and frequently ill-timed author- 
ity, that was depriving the company, day by day, 
of their best and most skillful help. 

Meantime, the rival concern was steadily 
flourishing j and now, after a trial as assistant. 


190 


A Startling Revelation. 


Frank Markham was one of the firm, and that 
fair, sweet dream he had once deemed so pre- 
sumptuous, was slowly, but surely nearing its 
fulfillment. 

Frank Markham had been almost a year his 
assistant, ere he had discovered the bond that ex- 
isted between the latter and his own fair, young 
sister, and it had been but by chance that he had 
learned it, too. But Horace Stewart was not the 
man — well-born gentleman though he was — to set 
up a bar between any two, whom God and nature 
had designed for each other. 

It was nearing the close of the first year of 
Frank’s connection with him, that Mr. Stewart 
invited his young assistant to join him one even- 
ing in a visit to the opera, to witness a famous 
operatic performance. 

It had been an after-thought that caused him 
to ask his sister that evening at dinner to accom- 
pany him to the opera, remembering just then 
that she had never witnessed the new perform- 
ance ; therefore it was with mingled feelings that 
young Markham beheld pretty Margery on her 


A Startling Revelation. 


191 


brother’s arm, when he met them at the entrance 
of the opera house. 

Though mutually acquainted, their relations 
hitherto had been but slight, owing more, per- 
haps, to the young man’s proud determination to 
avoid a betrayal of his secret until such time as 
his secure position would render him her equal. 

But he had not counted on such a trial as the 
one in store for him, and if Horace Stewart had 
intended to make his assistant betray himself, he 
could scarcely have planned better. For, indeed, 
how could our hero help it, installed as trusted 
attendant on the fair girl for whom he had long 
cherished an ardent and sincere love ? Transported 
for the moment to Paradise, under the witching 
charm of her lovely Scotch blue eyes, was it any 
wonder that the astute brother read the story 
that indeed was plain enough ? 

After that Horace Stewart watched them both, 
until he was well assured that it was a case of 
mutual and well-matched love ; and then he 
resolved that this young pair should not be 
thwarted and parted, as he himself and his prom- 


192 


A Startling Revelation, 


ised wife had been of late, through the unhappy 
IDrejudice of Evelyn’s father. 

Frank Markham was only the son of a widow, 
who lived in a plain but neat cottage, and to 
some it might seem strange that Horace Stewart 
would look favorably on a match that in some 
respects might be considered a mesaliance ; but 
Margery’s brother was a good judge of character, 
and he felt assured that his sister’s happiness 
would be quite safe in the hands of his young 
colleague. 

After that evening at the opera, Frank be- 
came a frequent visitor at the Stewart mansion, 
and it was not long ere he had won from the 
sweet lips of Margery a consent to share his lot, 
when he should feel himself justified in taking 
her from the luxury of her brother’s house. 

And then it would seem that the sum of 
Frank Markham’s happiness must be complete ; 
and yet a sorrow, and not a light one either, was 
mingling in his new-found joy. 

Kachel Markham, it will be remembered, had ex- 
perienced a startling shock when she first encoun- 


A Startlmg Revelation, 


193 


tered the maiden, who she mistakenly believed to 
be the object of her son’s love, but she was destin- 
ed to be more startled, when the truth was ex- 
plained to her, and she learned that the girl, whose 
rare beauty had sent her memory back to a long 
distant day, was the only child of the man she 
had always called her son’s enemy — Mr. Herbert 
Wentworth. 

Margery had begged her lover to bring his 
mother to visit her, and Frank had gladly done 
so, for it was one of his best attributes that he 
tenderly loved his widowed mother. 

Rachel had expected to meet another than the 
fair sweet girl who welcomed her so warmly, but 
with natural tact she avoided betraying herself, 
while she longed with an unspeakable longing to 
know who it was, that bore in her beautiful coun* 
tenance such marvelous likeness to her own 
long buried love. 

If Margery deemed her lover’s mother some- 
what cold and reserved, she only ascribed it to the 
natural feeling of a lonely woman soon to lose the 
companionship of her only son, and in the sweet 
9 


194 


A Startling Revelation, 


Scotch heart there was no room for aught but 
reverend pityfor the woman whose thoughts were 
indeed on such a widely different subject. 

Her curiosity, to put it to no other motive, 
once aroused ; Rachel was not long finding out 
the identity of Margery’s friend, and then a 
strange unrest took j)ossession of her that could 
not be stilled with all her inward reasoning. 
She would see the man, whom, strangely enough, 
considering the nearness of their vicinity, she had 
not yet come face to face with. 

Some reason — what, she could not explain to 
herself, — deterred her from speaking to her son 
on this strange mystery that was so stirring the 
depths of her heart and memory, that even in 
the long watches of the night, the face of beauti- 
ful Evelyn would arise before her, but wearing 
the form and habiliments of her own dead hus- 
band, Chester Markham. 

But, much as she brooded over the strange 
likeness, she could find no explanation, until a 
thing occurred, that crushed forever the fair, 
sweet dream of sorrow, her widowed heart had so 


A Startling Revelation, 


195 


long cherished, and left in its place a rankling 
horror to poison henceforth all her quiet peace, 
and the way it came about, was this. 

Of a truth, retribution for long past sins is 
often brought about by the sinner’s own later 
acts, and so it was in the ease of Herbert Went- 
worth. 

Not content with the long display of animos- 
ity, he had shown towards the young man, who 
indeed had never given him cause of offense, Mr. 
Wentworth had spitefully pursued him with cov- 
ert and contemptuous sneers, that served no j)ur- 
pose, but to lower himself in the eyes of all who 
had watched the young man’s brave career of 
manly rectitude. 

Now, it happened that the cottage in which 
Frank and his mother resided was the property 
of a minor, and could not be sold for a term of 
years — otherwise, Frank would have purchased it 
for his mother, knowing her strong attachment 
for their cozy home. 

It was a disagreeable surprise, therefore, to 
him, to learn, one day, when he went to the agent 


196 


A Startling Revelatioii. 


witli the quarterly rent for the cottage, that 
Mr. Wentworth had become the owner, having 
secretly made terms with the agent. 

But while it annoyed him for the moment, it 
gave him no serious anxiety, believing that of 
course the owner would be content with a good 
tenant, so he did not even impart the news he 
had learned to his mother, but contrived to drop 
the matter from his mind for the present. 

Rachel Markham was sitting in the pleasant 
shade cast by a runtiing vine that climbed the 
2)orch of her cottage, and, contrary to her usual 
busy habits, her hands lay idly in her lap, 
while the passive thoughtfulness in her sad, dark 
eyes, denoted that memory was stirring sad 
thoughts within her. 

But she started abruptly from her low seat, 
as a handsome equipage stopped right at the gate 
of the cottage, and the stately colored driver 
held the spirited horses until a gentleman 
alighted. 

“Mrs. Markham, I believe,” he began court- 


A Startling Revelation. 197 


eously, as he entered, — for Herbert Wentworth 
prided himself on being a gentleman under all 
circumstances. 

‘‘We have never met before, strangely 
enough,” he went on, “and you may not know 
that I am Mr. Herbert Wentworth, and having 
become the owner of this cottage, I have called 
to say that I will require you to vacate it at your 
earliest convenience, as I desire it for an em- 
ployee of mine, who has married Mrs. Went- 
worth’s maid.” 

While the gentleman was speaking, Rachel 
Markham had never once removed her gaze, in 
its startled wonder, from his handsome, haughty 
face. 

It was changed, indeed, since the time, when 
on that summer morning, long ago, she had 
looked her last on its youthful beauty. But she 
knew it now, for the face of her husband, and 
with the discovery came the sharp, cruel pain, 
of knowing him recreant to the vows he had 
made in the little church, when he had made her 
his true and lawful wife. 


198 


A Startling Revelation. 


And quick as a flask came over her the 
thought of the lady — the woman to whom he 
had given the love and cherishing, that of right 
belonged to her — his wife. 

Bachel Markham was a woman who, though 
never openly professing over-much sanctity, yet 
held in her heart a strong feeling of charity 
towards her fellow beings, and though it would 
seem that she owed nothing save a sense of injury 
to the woman who usurped, though it might be 
unconsciously, the place that of right belonged 
to Jier, a strange, sad. pity now filled her heart 
for that same unconscious wife, who yet in truth 
was no wife at all. 

But that was only momentary, for the next, 
she was thinking of the awful extent of this 
man’s perfidy, and her own wasted life — her life, 
that since that summer morning long ago had 
been one long night of vain regret for the hus- 
band she believed sleeping beneath the waves. 

‘‘And so you have quite forgotten me ?” she 
said at length, in cold, hard tones, as she looked 


A Startling Revelation. 


199 


at him with eyes that held not one gleam of the 
adoring love for him that had been their chief 
beauty in the olden days. 

“Forgotten you,” he repeated, looking anx- 
iously at her, with a startling sense of uneasiness 
stealing over him, “ you are Mrs. Markham — 
Frank Markham’s mother, are you not?” And 
he leaned heavily on the table near him, while 
he watched her eagerly. 

“It is a proof that I have changed, indeed, 
Chester Markham, when you do not recognize 
me, even after such a long j)arting,” she re- 
turned, bitterly. “ But no doubt it was a lesson 
you set yourself to learn, to put me from you 
totally, and you have succeeded in your efforts.” 

“ Bachel,” he almost gasped, “ then your son 
is” — 

“Your son. is well,” she added for him, with 
a withering touch of scorn in her tone and look, 
that made him cringe with shame — for even in 
his composition some sense of shame remained — 
and he remembered with what unreasonable ani- 
mosity he had pursued this woman’s son, who,. 


200 


A Startling Revelation. 


after all, was liis own and only son ; and then a 
thought of the woman at home, — the woman who 
was also the mother of Evelyn, — pierced his heart 
to the core. 

It was strange but true, that he had never 
hitherto felt a twinge of conscience for the wrong 
he had daily and hourly done towards the wo- 
man who deemed herself his true and lawful 
wife. And yet, when discovery of his perfidy 
was likely to occur, a pang of keenest agony rent 
his heart at the thought. 

For Herbert Wentworth loved tenderly, the 
mother of Evelyn, with a love he had never given 
to the girl he deserted, that summer morning 
when he left her to believe him drowned in the 
deep waters of the sea. 

“Yes, I am Rachel,” she said, again, “and 
you — I don’ t quite know who you are — but when 
I saw you last, you were called Chester Mark- 
ham, my husband.” 

“And you will expose me?” he returned, 
witli his eyes bent on her, a world of fear and 
pleading in their now humbled light. 


A Startlmg Revelation. 


201 


“Expose you, Chester Markham!” she 
echoed, with a smile that was ghastly in the in- 
tensity of its bitterness. “Think you that 
would give me back the years that I have 
wasted, mourning for the husband I lost. I 
have mourned him so bitterly that I have even 
reproached my Maker, for taking him away 
from me. And I have even striven to keep 
down my natural love for my son, thinking, — 
poor fool that 1 was, — that I was robbing his dead 
father of his full share. Oh, never fear exposure 
from me, Chester Markham,” she continued, 
throwing out her worn hands with a gesture of 
utter repulsion of the thought, “my son has 
never known his father, save as I have described 
him. Think you, sir, that I would willingly de- 
stroy that ideal % No, settle with your own base 
heart what course you may pursue, but let me re- 
main to you as if never discovered — as would to 
God it were, indeed, so.” 

“What can I do?” he had the baseness to 
ask her, “to repay you for this great forbear- 
ance — to leave my reputation untarnished.” 

9 * 


202 


A Startling Revelatim. 


‘‘Kepay mef’ and this time she faced him 
with a look and gesture that might have shamed 
a craven. “ How dare you offer to repay me ? For 
that is something you can never, never do. Gro, 
leave me, before I grow sick to death of the sight 
of your false, craven face. Go back to the wom- 
an, who, God help her, is more cruelly wronged 
than even I am. And for your reputation, keep 
up the false semblance if you can. No word or 
act of mine will tend to tarnish its brightness.” 

‘‘ But you will continue to live in this cot- 
tage,” he said, looking anxiously at her, ‘^and 
anything I can do for — for — ” and his eyes looked 
away from her scornful countenance, ^‘for your 
son,” he managed to murmur. 

‘‘You can do nothing for my son, sir,” was 
her answer. “You had already succeeded in 
showing an unreasonable dislike towards him, 
before his own merits and capacity won for him 
the secure position he now occupies. He is as 
well placed as though the whole world knew him 
as your son. And I thank my God,” she conclu- 


A Startling Revelation. 


203 


ded witli clasped hands, “ that he owes nothing 
of it all to you.” 

“ But you will at least let me tell you that I 
will endeavor to do Justice to him at my death, 
by remembering him in my will. I am rich, as 
riches go here, and I need not injure my daugh- 
ter’s prospects by so doing.” 

‘‘Tell me nothing at all,” she returned, with a 
weary gesture. “ But go, and never seek to meet 
me more. I will endeavor to remove from here 
as soon as practicable. For think not that I 
could breathe with freedom in your house. My 
whole desire from henceforth will be to forget 
that I ever met you, or in remembering it, that 1 
may be forgiven the years I so utterly wasted 
mourning you. Farewell !” And she waved her 
hand towards the door, with a repellent sternness 
that forced him to retire from her presence. 


204 


FranJ^s Mother, 


CHAPTER XIL 
F bank’s mo thee. 

HEN Herbert Wentworth left the pres- 



ence of the woman to whom he had 


plighted his troth long before in a little ob- 
scure English village, it was, with a heart filled 
with terrible foreboding and fear of discovery. 

For that Rachel Markham would continue to 
keep the secret of their prior acquaintance, 
seemed to his own selfish reasoning an impossible 
thing to hope for, and oh, how bitterly did he 
curse his folly,, that led him to the rash act of 
wedding the country girl, he had deemed too ob- 
scure and simple ever to discover his perfidy. 

“To the factory,’’ he had said to the coach- 
man ; and when the vehicle drew up at the office 
door, he alighted, and telling the man to return 
in a couple of hours, he repaired to his own pri- 
vate sanctum. 

Hastily turning the key in the lock he cast 


Franks Mother, 


205 


himself into a large leathern chair, and set him- 
self to think. 

And so it had come back to curse him — that 
long past folly of his youth ; and as he thought 
of the gentle lady in his house at home, the 
gently-reared and tenderly-cherished mother of 
Evelyn, he groaned in impotent agony. 

Not that Herbert Wentworth suffered one 
twinge of remorse for the sin he had committed. 
No, it was the consequence of his fault he feared — 
the dreadful consequence of discovery, when the 
woman he loved with the one strong love of his 
life, would know him for the villain he was. 

Kachel had said that she had no desire to be- 
tray his secret, even to her son, and at the 
thought, something of the old repulsion for the 
youth caused him to cover his face with his 
hands, as if to shut out all view of the honest 
eyes that had so often pierced him, with what 
could only be termed a reproachful wonder, when 
some harsh and impolitic measure towards the 
workmen was proposed. 


2o6 


Franics Mother. 


But could she be depended on for long? he 
asked himself with a pang of fear. 

But an imperative knock at the door caused 
him to make an effort to put away the traces of 
his trouble, and open the door. 

The new comer, Mr. Howard, a member of the 
company, entered the office hurriedly, betraying 
some excitement in his manner. 

“I want to speak to you, Wentworth!” he 
began, “ about that fellow Banks. What could 
have possessed you to set him over the men, I 
cannot conceive. But this I do know, that he is 
entirely unfit for the place, and it is altogether 
owing to his management that we have been 
deprived of the services of our best workmen, 
and have lost the best part of our trade.” 

‘‘And what is the matter with Richards?” 
questioned the chief, with some coldness in his 
manner, “that he has permitted such a state of 
affairs to exist in the factory where he is super- 
intendent ?” 

“ Oh ! as for that, you must be aware that his 
power was somewhat limited, where the foreman 


Frank's Mother. 


207 


immediately over the men claimed to have your 
sanction for his actions.” And Mr. Howard 
bristled a little as he looked keenly at his col- 
league. 

“He will have that to say no longer!” re- 
turned Mr. Wentworth, rising hastily and going 
out to the outer workroom, where he called a boy 
and told him to send Mr. Richards, the superin- 
tendent, to him. 

^‘What is all this I hear, Richards?” he 
began, when the latter appeared, “about the 
men leaving and the trade falling off ? What is 
your office of superintendent good for, if you are 
going to permit such a state of things ?” And he 
looked sharply at the superintendent. 

But the latter was no fool, and all Mr. Went- 
worth’s bluster went for nothing. 

“You have heard aright, Mr. Wentworth,” 
he answered with composure ; “ and it only goes 
to show that I was right, when I warned you of 
the consequences of giving such a power of con- 
trol into the hands of such a man as your favor- 
ite Banks. However, as it’s no fault of naine— 


208 


Franks Mother. 


owing to the very limited power you left to me 
of late, I decline to assume the responsibility, as 
I also decline to continue longer in my present 
position if Mr. Banks is to remain in his,” con- 
cluded' Richards, with some heat. 

“Oh, Banks must go, of course,” interposed 
Mr. Howard, looking at his colleague for ap- 
proval. “No need for you to resign, Richards ; 
we depend on you to restore the factory to its 
former prosperous working. You agree with me, 
of course, Mr. Wentworth he continued, ad- 
dressing that gentleman pointedly. 

“Certainly, certainly,” repeated his colleague, 
assuming a heartiness that indeed he did not 
feel, harassed as he was with secret torments. 
“ Just take the whole responsibility on yourself, 
Richards,” he continued, “and send the fellow 
back to his former place, if, indeed, you can keep 
him at all.” And then, weary to the heart of 
the whole business, he terminated the conference. 

But Mr. Howard lingered after the superin- 
tendent left. 

“I tell you what, Wentworth,” he remarked, 


Franks Mother. 


209 


‘‘ that was a stupid blunder of ours to part with 
young Markham. Why, do you know,” he 
added, “ that the best i^art of our trade has gone 
with him % And at this present time, Stewart 
& Markham are doing a larger trade than we 
are.” 

“ You may be right,” returned the chief, with 
forced composure. “But it is too late, I pre- 
sume, to secure his valuable services.” For the 
mention of the son of Rachel Markham at this 
time was almost too much for his forbearance. 

“Oh, I remember that j^ou never liked the 
young man,” retorted his partner, unconsciously 
turning the knife in the tortured wound. “But 
I never could see what fault you could find with 
him. However, as you very wisely remarked just 
now, it is too late to go over that old story.” 
And Mr. Howard took his leave, and the ha- 
rassed chief was once more left to gnaw his heart 
in solitude. 

Meantime, Mr. Richards was iDroceeding 
towards the finishing department of the factory, 
when the sound of voices raised in angry alterca- 


210 


Frank's Mother. 


tion, fell upon his ears. Pausing on the way, he 
stood reflectively, while he overheard the follow- 
ing : 

“And what do you think the company pays 
you for ? I’d like to have you tell me,” the fore- 
man, Banks, was saying in a loud, insulting tone. 

“ Why, it pays me,” returned another voice, 
in angry sarcasm, ‘‘ for doing what it hires me to 
do. But for putting up with your unnecessary 
insolence it pays me nothing. And so, Mr. 
Banks, I am not going to stand it longer. I’ve 
tried my best to please you, not out of respect to 
you, God knows, but because I hate contention. 
And I’ve come to the conclusion, that you are 
bound to And fault with my work, whether or 
no.” 

“Well, if you don’t like it,” was the scornful 
rejoinder, you can take your departure after 
your mates.” 

I intend to,” said the man. “ But before I 
go,” he added, “ Pll Just have a talk with Mr. 
Richards, to explain to him why I am leaving.” 

“Oh, you needn’t trouble yourself,” retorted 


Franl^s Mother. 


211 


the enraged Banks, “ going to old man Bichards. 
He’s got nothing to do with my department, so 
you would be only wasting your valuable time.” 

At this moment the superintendent deemed 
it time to appear. 

‘‘What’s the matter, Taylor?” he inquired 
calmly of the workman, who was at that moment 
divesting himself of his work-apron. 

“I was coming presently to let you know, 
sir,” answered the man. 

“ Oh, there is no need,” remarked Banks, in- 
solently, “ Taylor is discharged, that’s all.” 

“Go back to your work, Taylor,” said the 
superintendent sharply ; and then, turning to the 
angry foreman, he said, “ For you Banks, if you 
desire to remain in the employ of the Silverton 
Bronze Co. you can go back to the bench you 
worked at formerly, and see if you will do your 
duty to the company in the same faithful man- 
ner as Taylor here has always heretofore done 
to my complete satisfaction.” 

“But I was installed foreman over this 
department by Mr. Wentworth himself,” declar- 


212 


F^'anJcs Mother, 


ed the irate Banks, “and you have no authority 
to remove me.” And he glared viciously around 
at the men, who one and all were showing by 
their delighted looks how keenly they enjoyed 
the downfall of this petty tyrant. 

“Just so,” returned the superintendent qui- 
etly. “ And now Mr. Wentworth thinks different- 
ly of your abilities, and leaves the matter in my 
hands ; so as you are only keeping the men from 
giving their attention to their work, you will 
please return to your bench, or leave the factory 
immediately.” 

Now, incredible as it may seem, it was true 
nevertheless, that had Mr. Richards come to 
inform the men of a raise in their wages he could 
not have imparted such pleasing sensations of 
delight as filled their hearts at the humiliation 
and disgrace infiicted on the ill-natured upstart 
who had rendered their working hours a season 
of tormenting annoyances. 

It had been hard enough to know their pay was 
reduced until it was but sufficient for actual neces- 
sity ; but to be compelled to submit to the arbi- 


Franks Mother. 


213 


trary insolence of one who before his elevation 
was noted for his incessant grumbling and con- 
stant complainings against what he called the 
imx30sitions of the bosses. 

But his day had come, and it was a bitter pill 
indeed to swallow, to return to his former x)lace 
at the bench ; but bitter as it was, he gulped it 
down, for he dared not defy Mr. Bichards and 
leave the factory, knowing well that not another 
factory in the place would give him work, even 
of the meanest. 

With a look of baffled rage, he was proceeding 
towards the end of the workroom where his old 
place had for long been left to dust and cobwebs, 
with the intention of setting his bench in order, 
wdien the facetious Tom Peters looked around in 
well-assumed astonishment. 

‘‘ Why, halloa, Banks !” he exclaimed. ‘‘Come 
back again, hav’riT you ? Glad to see you Joe, ’pon 
my soul I am ; couldn’t be gladder, if the com- 
X)any made me superintendent. You know, we 
always liked old Joe, boys,” he continued, ad- 
dressing the men, who were now chuckling audi- 


214 


FranMs Mother. 


bly. ‘‘But Mr. Banks! Phew! don’t mention 
him.” 

And to these and similar remarks, was Joe 
Banks forced to listen to for many days. But as 
workmen, like the rest of their fellow- men, soon 
grow tired of a joke, however good it may be, the 
annoyance soon passed away, and the humbled 
and disgraced ex-foreman was left to his own 
companionship, for none of the men would 
notice him further than necessity compelled 
them to. 

Meantime Mr. Eichards undertook the restor_ 
ation to order of the department formerly gov- 
erned by Banks, and it was not long ere he suc- 
ceeded in restoring it to some semblance of its 
former prosperity, so that when the members of 
the company sat together at their next meeting, 
the pleasing announcement was made, that the 
profits were largely increased, therefore, the divi- 
dends would be larger. 

It was further declared possible to increase 
their expenses for the coming year, and to that 


FranMs Mother. 


215 


end it was considered wise to restore to the men 
their former rate of wages. 

It had been a peculiar feature of this meeting, 
that the superintendent, Mr. Richards, had made 
quite an extended statement to the assembled 
company, as to his views in regard to the advisa- 
bility of giving the men back their former wages, 
and it was largely owing to his firm opinion of 
the wisdom of the measure, that it was adopted. 

‘‘For I have tested it well,” he had said, 
“and 1 find that the men turned out superior 
work and more for the time, when we paid them 
according to reasonable rates ; and 1 give it as my 
opinion, that it will be for the interest of this 
company to pay our men at the same rate as the 
men employed in Stewart & Markham’s are 
getting.” 

And so it was agreed to, and once more the 
hearts of the workmen beat hopefully, as the 
news was announced to them. 

But Herbert Wentworth sighed a bitter sigh, 
as he listened to the discussion that was citing 
the firm of which Rachel Markham’s son was a 


2i6 


FranISs Mother, 


member, as an example to the old and long- 
established company of which he himself was 
chief. 

He too, was “ reaping as he had sowed,’’ for a 
dark foreboding tilled his heart now, day by day. 
Hot for a moment could he rid himself of the 
deadly fear that K-achel would betray him. 

Only one hope pierced the gloom of the dark- 
ness that surrounded his path — Frank Mark- 
ham’s mother was failing fast, lately, it was said ; 
and in his heart, Herbert Wentworth hoped for 
her speedy death — her death with her terrible se- 
cret unrevealed. 

Tes, it was true ; Rachel’s strong, brave heart 
was failing at last ; what not all the long years of 
mourning for her beloved husband had done to 
the naturally healthy frame of Frank’s mother, 
the revelation of the heartless deceit practiced on 
her unsuspecting belief, was doing now. 

Ever since, she had been failing visibly, and 
though she never complained, and persisted in 
declaring that she needed no doctor, her son’s 


FranJ^s Mother, 


217 


fears were aroused, and he insisted on calling in 
advice. 

But slightly alarmed as he had been, Frank 
Markham was startled to intense pain when Doc- 
tor Murrey informed him seriously, that his 
mother’s illness would end in death, and that 
nothing in man’s skill could do aught to arrest 
the destroyer. 

And this terrible verdict came just now to the 
affectionate son’s heart with a terrible reproach, 
and he blamed himself bitterly for failing to 
notice his mother’s failing health — a fact he sor- 
rowfully told himself must have been owing to 
his own intense absorption in his happy love 
affair ; for he was engaged to be married to the 
object of his heart’s devotion, sweet Margery 
Stewart. 

Of course, as the reader knows, Frank blamed 
himself causelessly, knowing as he did nothing 
of the dreadful shock she had received on the 
day of Mr. Wentworth’s visit. 

“Has your mother had any serious trouble 
lately f ’ inquired Doctor Murrey one day, when 
10 


2I8 


Franks Mother, 


the two were discussing Mrs. Markham’s rapid 
decline in health. 

‘‘No, nothing that I have any knowledge of,” 
answered her son. But just then a thought crept 
through his mind : “ Could it be,” he asked him- 
self, “ that his mother was grieving over the fact 
of his impending marriage with Margery Stew- 
art He knew that his mother loved him with 
even more than an ordinary mother’s love, but 
was the fulfillment of his happiness to be the 
means of breaking her health % 

“Mother!” he said to her, when the two 
were alone together, “tell me what is troubling 
you, and destroying your health. I feel sure 
that some heavy sorrow is weighing upon your 
heart — something, perhaps, that if you would 
confide in me, I could help to lighten.” 

“No, Frank,” she returned, with a little 
tremble in her voice, as she looked away from her 
son’s inquiring eyes. “I have no trouble that 
you can help — no burden that you can lighten. 
Don’t worry about me; I am not young, you 


FranJis Mother, 


219 


know, and the years are telling upon me,” and 
she looked up at him with a faint little smile. 

But Frank was not to be put off so easily. 
‘‘Now, mother, see here,” he said, taking in his 
own his mother’s wasted hand, and looking 
fondly in her averted face. “Just tell me, is it 
because that I am to be married soon that you 
are grieving your heart out? For dearly as I love 
Margery, and much as my happiness is bound up 
in her, I would not cause you a moment’s sorrow 
to obtain her. Margery and I are young enough 
to wait many years,” he continued, slowly, as a 
pang rent his heart at the thought, “ and lam 
sure that her generous nature would hesitate to 
accept happiness at the price of your peace of 
mind.” 

“You are wrong, Frank,” answered his 
mother, now meeting his glance with clear gaze, 
for in her heart had been a great fear that 
he had formed a suspicion of her terrible se- 
cret, and it was with a world of relief that she 
learned his real fears of the cause of her trouble. 


220 


Frank's Mother. 


“You are so far wrong,” she continued, earn- 
estly, “ that on the contrary, I was about to 
ask you a favor — one, that if you will agree to do 
it for me, will serve to lift a great weight from 
my heart and render my remaining days as happy 
as earth can make them now. I want to see 
Margery Stewart your wife before I die, and to 
that end I wish that you w'ould hasten the day of 
your marriage — for, indeed, Frank,” she added, 
earnestly, ‘^though I would not have you grieve 
much for me, I am sure that I cannot be with 
you long, and it is my one and only wish to see 
you and Margery wedded before I leave you.” 

“Why, mother,” he said, soothingly, “you 
are not so bad as that ; you will live with us 
many years— please God, to comfort both Mar- 
gery and me.” 

“Ah, don’t think it, Frank,” she returned, 
sadly. And then, as she looked off away from 
him to the distant horizon, through the open 
window, she added, “ And try to believe ' me, 
Frank, that I am content to go, now that you 


FranJzs Mother, 


221 


have won a safe position, and the love of a good 
woman. My work is done here on earth, and 
rest will be welcome. I know,” she continued, 
slowly, with a curious shyness, that was start- 
lingly new in the strong-hearted woman Frank 
had known till now, ‘Hhat I have given you but 
little cause to deem me much of a Christian, but 
I have learned of late to put my hope and trust 
in Grod, who had shown me in many ways that 
He is great and all-powerful, and will not be for- 
gotten. It is late, I know, to turn to Him. I 
know also that He promises help and pardon to 
all, and I put my faith in His mercy to forgive 
my tardiness.” 

“You were always a dear, good mother,” was 
her son’s loving answer, as he fondled her wasted 
hand. 

“Ah, yes, Frank,” she sighed, drearily, with 
an inward pang. ‘‘I was true enough to my 
earthly affections. But we will never mind that 
now,” she added, with an effort ; “but remember 
that you must tell Margery of my wish, and let 


222 


FranJ^s Mother. 


it be soon, for it would give me such comfort that 
it would perhaps prolong my days, and that, 
you know, Frank, is what you desire.” And 
she bade him leave her now, while she rested a 
while. 


A Call to Mr. Winters. 


223 


CHAPTER XIII. 

A CALL TO MR. WINTERS. 

T he soft September wind blew lightly 
through the tall maples, that on either 
side surrounded the pretty house that Frank had 
taken for his mother, when she had signified her 
desire to vacate the cottage. She had told him 
of Mr. Wentworth’s visit just enough to explain 
why they must move, and the young man had 
hastened to comply with the request. 

It was a pretty house of modern build, cen- 
trally located, and commanding a view of the 
main street. 

All pretence of seeing to things, was now 
abandoned by the failing woman, who was con- 
tent to leave to the stout girl in the kitchen, all 
matters pertaining to the household, while she 
submitted to the rule of the bustling nurse her 
son had installed over her. 

A great change had taken place in the once 


224 


A Call to Mr. Winters. 


strong, brave woman — a change born of her late 
experience of her own unworthiness. All her 
life, since the supposed death of her husband, she 
had worshiped his memory to the exclusion of 
all other worship, and a wave of bitter humilia- 
tion had swept over her, when she learned how 
more than wasted had been her self-devotion. 

And now, as she lay thinking it all over, lay 
resting on the soft, easy couch, procured by her 
son for her comfort, and the autumn sun stole in 
through the half- shaded window, and made a 
glory of her snow-white hair around the intense 
pallor of her face, a strange new fear assailed 
her. 

‘‘ Was she to die, and let this sin. go on ? Was 
that bold, bad man to"go on deceiving his fellow- 
men, and living a lie in the sight of God 

Ah ! day after day, she asked this of her 
heart, but the answer never came. 

She had said she would not betray their terri- 
ble secret, but would it not be rankest sin to 
keep it secret and permit the wrong to continue ? 

“On the other hand,” she argued, “ 


none 


A Call to Mr, Winters. 


225 


knew of it but God, and themselves, two. Would 
it serve any good, to cause a gentle, innocent 
lady, to learn that the man she loved and hon- 
ored had outraged the laws of God and man, and 
made her one to juty and compassionate, to learn 
that her only child, her beautiful Evelyn, had no 
right to her father’s name? No! Kachel told 
herself, that this she could never do and yet, 
the subject rankled and tugged at her aching 
heart until she longed, oh how earnestly 1 to be at 
rest and free from it all. 

Meanwhile, she still persisted in her desire to 
witness the union of Frank and Margery, with a 
feverish anxiety that they were fain to gratify ; 
and so the preparations went on for the wedding, 
that must perforce, be a simple one, owing to the 
fast-failing health of the bridegroom’s mother. 

Just about this time, it began to be remarked, 
that Mr. Herbert Wentworth was greatly changed, 
and for the better, too. Much of his old, arbi- 
trary haughtiness had left him, and a quiet 
thoughtfulness had taken its place, that was the 
subject of much comment among his associates. 

10 * 


226 


A Call to Mr. Winters. 


‘‘What’s come to Wentworth, of late?” was 
asked more than once. Bnt none could answer, 
save to reiterate the wonder. 

Another subject, too, was stirring the gossips 
of Silverton, just now. The Granite Church was 
without a regular pastor, save such visiting ones 
as consented now and then to minister on occa- 
sional Sundays to the congregation. 

But startling news had come to Silverton, of 
the strange career of the once splendid and bril- 
liant minister, the Reverend Morton Hurst Wel- 
ton, from Silverton. He had accepted a call to 
a prominent neighboring city, and for some 
months the sound of his praises reached the 
place, some of whose most influential peo]3le had 
desired to retain him in their midst. Indeed, 
many who had been life-long friends and fellow- 
workers, had sent their friendship to the winds, 
in hot dispute of the matter of the fitness or un- 
fitness of this reverend idol. But for they who 
upheld him, they shrank from mention of him, 
now ; and for some who, it seemed, had read his 
character aright, well they might triumph if they 


A Call to Mr. Winters. 


227 


would, for the Eeverend Morton Hurst Welton 
had cast off all restraint at last, and turned from 
the ministry he had only imposed on to seek a life 
that was more to his taste. 

From all sources came the word that he was 
figuring at race-courses, fairs, and public resorts 
generally, but always in the character of a fast 
man of the world, with no semblance of the 
sacred character he had once so boldly and 
splendidly worn. 

Herbert Wentworth heard and bit his lip with 
vexation and chagrin, as he remembered how 
strongly he had desired to see him Evelyn’s 
husband. 

And Evelyn, remembering her discarded 
lover’s threat to lay his ruin at her feet, only 
smiled a faint little smile of scorn, and told her 
heart that she was entirely guiltless of the ruin 
of this man, who could set his life here and here- 
after on the mere turn of a girl’s word. And 
that word she had never regretted, for in her 
heart one man yet held sway. 

To Horace Stewart she had plighted her girl- 


228 


A Call to Mr. Winters. 


ish troth, and in the years that had since passed 
she had held faithfully to that troth ; and if not 
him, then, please God, she told herself, no other 
man would call her wife. 

And, thinking over his strange infatuation for 
this reverend fraud, Mr. Herbert Wentworth 
cursed himself inwardly for a blind fool and dolt. 
By his own folly, he had broken up the match 
between his daughter and Horace Stewart, now 
one of the most prosperous men in Silverton. 
For Mr. Wentworth deemed their love cold and 
dead, with no chance of a renewal, and now any 
chance moment might see his secret exposed, and 
himself disgraced ; and who would wed with his 
Evelyn when the story of his life was told — the 
story of the wife who at that moment lay on her 
couch in her pretty home, eating her heart out 
for his sin ? And the wish he breathed so 
earnestly as he thought of her, was that she was 
dead, and her story buried, so that it might 
never come to the ears of the woman to whose 
fair, placid life no deep wave of sorrow had ever 


A Call to Mr, Winters. 


229 


come, and whose esteem he valued more than 
earth or heaven. 

And it was while thus musing, that he started 
at his wife’s entrance, for, with his guilty remorse 
now awakened, everything alarmed him. 

“Herbert,” said Mrs. Wentworth, quietly, 
sitting down near him and laying her soft, fair 
hand on his arm, while she looked up at him 
with the little tender smile he loved to see her 
wear, for it was to this lady, who had loved him 
fearlessly, and ever met his sternest moods with 
gentle bravery, that he had given his heart’s 
devotion ; and looking now in her fair, sweet 
face, a pang of unutterable misery rent his heart, 
as he thought* of what she might one day think 
of his perfidy, — ‘‘ Herbert, I have a favor to ask of 
you, and you must promise before hand, that at 
least you will not be angry with me for asking it 
of you.” 

« Angry with you, Mary?” he returned. “I 
could not be angry with you now.” And his look 
and tone were so very strange, that Mrs. Went- 
worth wondered vaguely, if Herbert ^as getting 


230 


A Call to Mr. Winters. 


an illness, and a sharp fear assailed her for the 
moment, as she remembered the dangerous fever 
that was doing such deadly work just then in 
Silverton. 

“No, Mary,” he went on, “ I will not be an- 
gry with you ; but on the contrary, I promise to 
grant your favor, whatever it may be — so ask 
away,” he concluded, with forced jdayfulness. 

“Take care, Herbert,” she returned, in the 
same light tone. “ You may think that you prom- 
ised hastily, when you learn my petition, Her- 
bert,” and now she was seriousness itself. “ It is 
no less than that you will consent to let Evelyn 
act as bridesmaid to Margery Stewart on the oc- 
casion of her marriage with Frank Markham.” 

Mrs. Wentworth thought she had indeed been 
rash, when she witnessed her husband’s startled 
looks and deadly pallor; but he only said quietly, 
when he had conquered his amazement, “I don’t 
care. Let the child please herself.” 

“ That’s kind of you, Herbert,” declared his 
wife, gratified more than she could say, for his 
ready compliance ; and then, emboldened by her 


A Call to M7\ Winters, 


231 


success she continued. “And Herbert dear, don’t 
you think you might just take back your objec- 
tion to Evelyn’s engagement % The poor girl has 
been so obedient, you know, and indeed she can 
never care for another than Horace Stewart, who 
has loved her steadily all these years.” 

It was almost more than the strong man could 
endure, to sit and listen to this gentle mother 
pleading with him for her child’s happiness ; it 
was the acme of bitterness to him, remembering 
how he had wronged them both. 

“I will not oppose them longer,” he forced 
himself to say, turning away from the honest 
eyes, that flashed such grateful pleasure at him — 
eyes he would never meet with clear gaze again. 

“For I wanted to tell you,” went on Mrs. 
Wentworth, “that Mr. Stewart is to be grooms- 
man, and of course that would be an objection, if 
you were of your old way of thinking in regard 
to him ; but now that you think better of him, it 
will be so nice for Evelyn, poor girl.” And the 
glad mother wiped a tear of sympathy from her 


eyes. 


232 


A Call to Mr. Winters. 


Oh, if the gentle lady could but read the 
thoughts that grew to startling fears in the brain 
and heart of the man before her, what would her 
feelings have been 'i 

But she could not know that it was simple 
torture to him to listen to her pleading that their 
Evelyn might be permitted to accept the happi- 
ness he had kept from her so long, in his arro- 
gant obstinacy. 

She could not know that he was longing fever- 
ishly to see Evelyn wedded to the good man who 
loved her, ere the storm of sin and shame would 
break over all their heads. 

No, she knew nothing of this, and so she 
smiled lovingly on him and thanked him for his 
kind concession to what she termed her wishes, 
and then she went away and left him, and the 
wretched and guilty man drooped his head on his 
clasped hands and groaned in impotent misery. 
Though all these years that had gone by, since 
the summer day, when he perpetrated the un- 
holy fraud on the trusting heart of the girl he 
had sworn at the altar to love and cherish, he 


A Call to Mr. Winters. 


233 


had gone on his bold, successful way, with little 
or no thought of his own perfidy. 

And even now it was only the discovery he 
dreaded. 

That the lady, — for a lady in the highest 
sense of all that the word comprised, was Eve- 
lyn’s mother, — to the man who had done her a 
terrible wrong. That she could ever come to 
know the truth was to him the end of all things, 
for he loved her now with the same fond idolatrj’^ 
that had made him her slave in the days of their 
youth, when she deemed her young husband all 
that was manly and noble. 

She had awakened, of course, from her first 
fond belief? as who has not — but she loved him 
still with the strong tender love of a faithful 
wife for the father of her children, for Evelyn 
had been only one of a numerous brood. 

In the beautiful picturesque little cemetery, 
that stood in the very midst of the homes of Sil- 
verton, stood a tall stately shaft, bearing the 
name of Wentworth and six small tablets of 
quaint and simple device, recorded the names 


234 


A Call to Mr. Winters. 


of the pretty baby boys, who had been born to 
Herbert and Mary Wentworth. 

He had grieved exceedingly at each succeed- 
ing death, for his pride, too, was touched at the 
loss of the boys who bore his name and were to 
inherit the colossal fortune he had heaped up so 
industriously. 

But now, as he writhed in fear of what might 
be coming to his home, he thought of those small 
graves, and breathed a sigh of thankfulness 
that they at least were saved from a share in the 
consequences of his sin. 

But the various duties of life must be fulfilled, 
even in the midst of secret care ; and Mr. Went- 
worth was i’orced to arouse himself to attend a 
meeting of the church committee, to decide as to 
a call to be given to a new minister. 

For some reason not explained, the members 
of the Granite Church had been rather hard to 
please in their choice of a pastor ; but now this 
meeting was to decide which of the reverend gen- 
tlemen who had preached to them during the 


A Call to Mr. Winters. 


235 


past season, was to be called to settle among 
tliem and be their pastor. 

Some of the members — though they were not 
the moneyed ones, — were in favor of recalling the 
former pastor, Mr. Winters, while others desired 
a younger and more fashionable man. 

Among the latter, Mr. Wentworth had been 
foremost, for the haughty chief of the Silverton 
Manufacturing Co. had never taken cordially to 
the impartial candor of Mr. Winters’ character ; 
it may, therefore, be supposed that it was some- 
what of a surprise to his colleagues when he un- 
hesitatingly acquiesced in the proposal to tender 
a call to the reverend gentleman he had so per- 
sistently opposed. 

But the question of salary was then discussed, 
and it was suggested that a small advance on his 
former terms would be sufficient to induce him to 
return ; but just then, Horace Stewart rose to his 
feet, and, with a slight touch of indignation in 
his raised tones, said : Gentlemen, wofild you 
offer such an insult to a good and worthy clergy- 
man, as to propose to him to come here to minis- 


236 


A Call to Mr. Winters. 


ter to our spiritual wants, because we deem him 
worthy of the call, and with the same breath tell 
him that he must accept a less salary for his ser- 
vices than his predecessor, whom we discarded, 
for his utter lack of the attributes of a clergyman ? 
Gentlemen,” he concluded, earnestly, ‘‘rather 
than let such a thing be said of us, I will myself 
contribute the remainder, to make up the sum we 
gave to Mr. Hurst — ten thousand dollars a year.” 

When Mr. Stewart sat down, there was for a 
moment a decided murmur, seemingly of dissent, 
but the next moment Deacon Howard arose, and 
with a comprehensive glance around, remarked : 

“I agree totally with Mr. Stewart, except in 
that he should be taxed so heavily, and 1, for one, 
am ready to contribute a share in the making up 
of Mr. Winter’s salary.” 

As Mr. Wentworth offered no opposition, 
none of the others cared to do so ; and it was 
therefore decided to give the Reverend John 
Winters a call to come to preach to the people of 
the Granite Church of Silverton. 


A ■ Call to Mr. Winters. 


237 


“ Well, Mary,” remarked Mr. Wentworth, the 
next morning, as he took his cup of coffee from 
her hand, ‘‘ your old favorite is to get the call, 
with full salary, too. By*the-way,” he continued, 
not waiting for her answer, “ Horace Stewart must 
be making a fortune nowadays, in his factory. 
He actually offered to pay out of his own pocket 
the balance necessary to make Mr. Winters’ sal- 
ary the same sum we gave to Wei ton — a matter of 
five thousand or so a year. No small sum to give 
personally, even for a prosperous man.” 

‘‘Horace Stewart was always a just and gen- 
erous man, Herbert,” answered Mrs. Wentworth, 
quietly. “ But I am so much pleased,” she added, 
“to know that Mr. Winters is coming back. 
Indeed, I have never felt really happy since he 
left.” 

“And I have thwarted her even in this,” 
groaned the wretched man, inwardly, as he 
watched the glow of pleasure that lit up herYair, 
gentle countenance. 

Just then, Evelyn entered the room. 

“ Mr. Winters is to come back to be our min- 


238 


A Call to Mr. Winters. 


ister,” said her mother. “That is,” she added, 
“if he will accept the call, which I don’t think 
he will refuse.” 

“Not likely, indeed,” remarked Mr. Went- 
worth, “ that he will refuse a call to the richest 
church in the State, with a salary offered to him 
of ten thousand a year. And by-the-way, Evelyn,” 
he continued, looking keenly in his daughter’s 
face, “that faithful swain of yours is growing 
generous. He wanted, do you know, to pay i)art 
of Mr. Winter’s salary, out of his own pocket, 
rather than give him less than his predecessor.” 

“I should be surprised, papa,” returned 
Evelyn, slowly, as she took her place at the table, 
“to learn that any gentleman of the committee 
dreamt of offering Mr. Winters less.” 

“ Oh, there were of course different views on 
the subject, but we made it all right in the end, 
and the call goes to him with the offer of the 
same salary Mr. Wei ton received while here. 
Mr. Winters is not, of course, the brilliant 
preacher that Welton was, but he was quite sue- 


A Call to Mr. Winters. 


239 


cessful while with us, and I have no doubt will 
give full satisfaction.” 

“I would never think of comparing the two 
men, Herbert,” said Mrs. Wentworth, as she 
refilled her husband’s cup. “ While Mr. Wei ton 
was grand in oratory and brilliant in metaphor, 
he lacked utterly the capacity of impressing his 
hearers with a belief in his own integrity, his 
faith and trust in the Master he professed to 
serve, which latter qualities were the prevailing 
traits in Mr. Winter’s preaching.” 

“Oh, well,” returned Mr. Wentworth, care- 
lessly, little relishing the religious turn the con- 
versation was drifting into, “ he’s coming back, 
and you ladies will be happy ; at least you ought 
to, for you know you were dreadfully cut up 
when he left.” And hastily swallowing the 
remainder of his coffee, he left the breakfast- 
room. % 

But Mrs. Wentworth called to him as he was 
about to leave the house a few moments later. 

“Herbert,” she said, coming to him in the 
hall, “can you let me have fifty dollars or so 


240 


A Call to Mr. Winters. 


this morning? I want it for Evelyn, for that 
wedding, you know. She will not require any 
thing new, as it is to be such a very quiet, pri- 
vate affair, on account of the low state of health 
of Mrs. Markham — the young man’s mother, you 
know; but even as it is, we require some few 
things, for which I want some money.” 

Herbert Wentworth drew some bills from his 
pocket-book, and handed them to his wife, but 
his hand trembled nervously as it touched hers, 
and he averted his eyes from her inquiring 
glance, for he was thinking, — oh ! how bitterly, — 
how little this unsuspecting woman knew the 
terrible interest that other woman’s life bore for 
him, yes, and her, too. 

‘‘I really don’t think you are quite well,” 
she said, watching him uneasily, and blundering 
a little over her words, in her newly-aroused 
anxiety, for once more the fever recurred to her 
memory. 

“Oh, I’m all right, Mary,” he replied care- 
lessly. “ Grood morning.” 


A Call to Mr, Winters, 


241 


“ Evelyn, I am afraid that your father is get- 
ting an illness,” she remarked, uneasily, when 
she had returned to the breakfast-room. 

“ Why, what makes you think so ?” inquired 
her daughter, anxiously, adding hastily, “Oh, 
mother, you are nervous about the fever. Father 
did not appear to be ill at the breakfast table ; 
depend upon it, it’s only your fancy. But look 
here, why, father has given you a hundred dol- 
lars,” and she showed the bills to her mother. 

“ W ell, well, so he has ! though I asked 
him for fifty only. However, it will do for some 
other purpose. You will wear your mauve silk, 
of course, as Margery is to wear hers.” 

“ Yes, I had decided so,” returned Evelyn, 
musingly. She was thinking happily of a re- 
mark of Horace Stewart, on the last occasion of- 
her appearance in the same mauve silk dress. 
“ You look lovely in anything, Evelyn,” he Jiad 
said to her, “ but in that dress you are just divine.” 
And she was to stand beside him in the same 

dress, while their two dearest friends pledged 
11 


242 


A Call to Mr. Winters. 


their troth for life, and were to be made man and 
wife, and Evelyn Wentworth could scarcely 
credit her senses that her father had given con- 
sent for her to stand in such familiar relation to 
Horace Stewart. 


Death's Ravages. 


243 


CHAPTER XIY. 

death’s ravages. 

T he situation of the city of Silverton had 
always heretofore been considered a re- 
markably healthy, as well as a peculiarly beauti- 
ful one. But this year a low, tedious fever, had 
set in among the inhabitants, that, though mild 
at first, had of late assumed alarming fatality. 

Among the many who had undergone a course 
of the fever, and recovered, was Mrs. Joice, the 
washerwoman. Though she declared earnestly 
to Dr. Murrey, that she felt that she owed her 
recovery — under Gfod — to the kind care of her 
friend and neighbor Mrs. Parkins, “For, what- 
ever I should have done without her, I really 
don’t know — God bless her !” she was wont to 
conclude with moist eyes, as she recounted the 
many kind acts of her friend. 

Well, the time came all too soon when she 
was called upon to prove her gratitude. 


244 


DeatJis Ravages. 


Mrs. Parkins, poor woman, had congratulated 
herself on escaping the fever with her numerous 
family, although, to do her justice, she had never, 
refused to go into its midst at the call of charity. 

When, therefore, her Lizzie returned home 
one evening from the factory, complaining of a 
violent headache and other symptoms of the 
dreaded scourge, the heart of the mother sank 
with a nameless dread, for it was noticed that 
nearly all of the late cases were ending fatally. 

Lizzie Parkins was at this time a tall, pretty 
girl of eighteen or so. With steady persistence 
she had carried out the project proposed by her 
mother, on her leaving school, and the end of 
this season would see her store of savings ad- 
vanced to the sum required to pay for her finish- 
ing course at the Normal school, — for, during the 
years that she had been working, the girl studied 
assiduously in her leisure hours, until she had 
mastered all the preparatory branches. 

For Lizzie’s one desire was to be a teacher 
and, as it seemed to be her vocation, her wise 
mother encouraged her all in her power, always 


DeatJis Ravages, 


245 


insisting on setting aside the sum agreed upon 
between them, for Lizzie’s further tuition. 

Well, it was drawing to a close — the term of the 
brave girl’s probation ; but alas ! it was destined 
never to dawn on Lizzie, who was never to reach 
the goal of her young ambition. 

‘‘Yes, she has the fever,” was Dr. Murrey’s 
verdict, when he had examined her carefully. 

Mrs. Parkins checked her rising fears, and 
listened intently to the doctor’s directions. She 
had her precious girl to nurse, and could not per- 
mit herself to give way to unnecessary weak- 
nesses. 

But the sweet sad days of the autumn went 
slowly on, and still poor Lizzie changed not for 
the better, and then it was that grateful-hearted 
Mrs. Joice found a way to return her debt to her 
neighbor, poor overwrought Mrs. Parkins. 

' Lizzie’s illness had become so alarming in its 
violence, that the mother’s heart was almost rent 
with fear and anguish. Her darling Lizzie, her 
good, brave* hearted daughter ! What would she 


246 


DeatJis Ravages, 


do, she asked herself fearfully, were aught to 
haj)i)en that would take her from her ? 

But poor Lizzie grew weaker and weaker, and 
the doctor looked grave as he noted the terribly 
rapid pulse and the girl’s fast-waning strength. 

Almost from the first, she had been delirious, 
and it was dreadful to the attendants, to listen to 
her soft babble of all that had been in her innocent 
heart, as she had worked and waited for her 
dream to be fulfilled. 

“And we have almost enough, mother,” she 
would say, looking u|) anxiously in the face of 
whoever was ministering to her, for she recognized 
none of them, “ we have almost enough, and I 
can go to the Normal school. So glad, mother, so 
glad !” And then she would fall into a fitful slum- 
ber, only to start up again the next moment, 
repeating the old babble. 

“Do you think she overstudied?” her father 
asked the doctor one day, after just such a scene 
at the sick girl’s bedside. 

“Well, it may be so,” answered the doctor, 


DeatEs Ravages. 


247 


‘‘ and yet it is a peculiarity of the disease, that 
they ramble over past experiences.” 

James Parkins asked no more questions, but 
his thoughts were bitter as he watched the 
changed face of his winsome girl. 

For it was indeed the sad truth, that Lizzie 
had overtaxed her brain with constant and un- 
wearied study, and it was telling fatally on her 
now. But though Dr. Murrey knew it well 
enough, he had no desire to add to the poor peo- 
ple’s troubles, by telling them so. 

But the humble home of the Parkins family 
was not the only one visited about this time by 
the dread epidemic. 

Mrs. Markham had continued to urge her son’s 
marriage with such nervous persistency, that at 
length a day was named for the ceremony to take 
place. 

It was a clear bright day in October, that Dr. 
and Mrs. Murrey and a few select friends were 
gathered together in the pretty though hand- 
somely furnished parlors of Horace Stewart’s 


248 


Death's Ravages, 


mansion, to witness the marriage of his sister and 
Frank Markham. 

It had been thought, at first, that his mother 
would be unable to be present, and it was pro- 
posed to have the ceremony performed at her 
own house, but that plan was strongly opposed 
by Mrs. Markham, herself. She declared that her 
strength would be sufficient to permit of her join- 
ing them at Mr. Stewart’s. 

And she was right, for no sign of weakness 
appeared on her faded countenance, as she list- 
ened to the solemn words pronounced over the 
young pair by Mr. Winters himself, who had 
been invited to perform the ceremony. 

And, but for his mother’s surely-failing health, 
Frank Markham would have been the happiest 
man in Silver ton that autumn day, when the one 
strong dream of his life was fulfilled. 

Margery — ^beautiful, high-bred Margery — was 
his wife, and he was able, through his own hon- 
est efforts, to give her a home equal to what she 
had been accustomed to all her life. No wonder, 


DeatJis Ravages, 


249 


then, that he was a proud as well as a happy 
man ! 

Rachel Markham had learned to love dearly 
the warm-hearted girl who had loved her son so 
faithfully, and it was a source of inexpressible 
comfort to her world-weary heart to know him 
safely possessed of such a true, good helpmate. 

And yet it was not the sweet bride’s face on 
which the elder woman’s gaze so often fell. 

It was never a marvel in Silverton that Evelyn 
Wentworth fascinated every one that looked on 
her incomparable face ; but it possessed for poor 
Rachel a fascination that no one else had ever 
experienced, who admitted its rare charm. For 
how could they feel as she did, when she beheld 
the softened resemblance of the false, handsome 
countenance of Chester Markham ? 

But, wronged as she was, Rachel was intensely 
generous, and, looking in the girl’s speaking 
eyes, and noting there the love that tilled them 
for the master of this house — Horace Stewart, 
whose reverent tenderness for the lovely brides- 
maid of his sister, made patent to all beholders 
11* 


250 


Death! s Ravages. 


that their love was mutual, the woman so fast 
nearing the end of life, with its joys and sorrows, 
made an inward vow to keep secret to the end the 
wrong that she, at least, was guiltless of. 

JN 0 , Rachel would never betray the secret that 
lay so heavy on her heart, that living was a con- 
stant pain to the weary woman ; and she cared 
not, now that Frank’s hapj)iness was secured, 
how soon her release came. True, it might seem 
like sin to remain silent, and let the wrong go on. 
‘‘But wonld,” she argued to herself, “the ren- 
dering the life and happiness of this innocent 
girl a blighted waste make the sin less ? No, on 
the guilty head of the man who had done the 
wrong, let the responsibility remain.” 

Evelyn herself, while she spoke words of gen- 
tle sympathy to the pale mother of the bride- 
groom, yet shrank secretly with unaccountable 
dread from the dark, piercing eyes that followed 
her so hungrily. 

“What was it,” she asked herself, reproach- 
fully, “ that gave her such qualms of fear, when- 
ever she encountered that glance ?” But the an- 


DeatJis Ravages, 


251 


swer never came, and with much effort she forced 
herself to smile bravely in the wan face, while 
she deftly folded the warm shawl closer around 
the attenuated shoulders that shivered and trem- 
bled at her touch. 

Before Frank departed on the few day’s trip 
that was all the journey the young pair would 
permit themselves, on account of the dangerous 
state of Mrs. Markham’s health, he saw his 
mother comfortably placed at home, with careful, 
skilled attendants and even loving care, then, 
with many promises of speedy return to her side, 
and fond hopes for her eventual recovery, he left 
her, to join Margery, from whom he was to be 
parted never more in life. 

But before Rachel was borne away from the 
scene of the bridal, she seized an oj)X)ortunity to 
speak with Evelyn. 

It was in the press of the departure of some of 
the guests, and attention was drawn away from 
where Rachel sat, with Evelyn standing close 
beside her chair. 

“You are very fond of our Margery, Miss 


252 


DeatJis Ravages, 


Wentworth she. began, looking keenly in the 
fair flushed face. 

‘‘Yes,” answered Evelyn, glad that the sub- 
ject broached was one she could so easily con- 
verse upon. “ Margery and I have always been 
more like sisters than anything else, and I am so 
pleased to witness her happiness.” 

“Then you really think that your friend has 
done well in her marriage ?” inquired the mother 
apxiously. 

“Done well!” echoed the girl. “Why, she 
has done splendidly.” Then, with a sweet smile, 
“Frank, you know, has always been a great 
favorite with us girls, ever since he was quite a 
little fellow; and I am sure,” she concluded, with 
a glance at the subject of their conversation, and 
a light in her eyes that was perfect in its friend- 
liness, “ his wife is a fortunate woman.” 

After that, Rachel settled the matter of her 
secret with her conscience, thus. “ How could I 
ever tell this warm-hearted generous girl, that he 
is her father’s son, and the lawful owner of her 
inheritance % No ; better this calm, kind friend- 


Death! s Ravages. 


253 


ship between them — a friendship cemented more 
closly by Margery’s love for them both, than a 
startling revelation of the nearer tie that bound 
them, but perhaps, would but tend to break their 
pleasant friendship.” 

So Rachel said good-by to Evelyn among the 
rest, though the girl never knew why the elder 
woman’s manner was so earnest in the i)arting. 
But she forgot it all, when, on her return home, 
she found her mother alarmingly ill, and the 
whole house in a state of unusual excitement. 

Poor Mrs. Wentworth, it seems, had fallen 
herself a victim to the fever she had so dreaded 
for her husband. And when Dr. Murrey came 
and looked at her, he shook his head in the same 
grave way that he had done when he looked at 
young Lizzie Parkins. The symptoms were 
strangely alike in both cases. 

Thus while the angel of death hovered darkly 
over the workman’s pretty but humble home, his 
dark wing shadowed the mansion on the hill, 
where the gentle mistress lay in childish uncon- 
sciousness of the bitter anguish of the sinful 


254 


DeatJis Ravages. 


man, who saw his punishment in her fast-impend- 
ing doom. 

It was the ninth morning of Lizzie’s illness, 
and she had slumbered fitfully all the night 
before, giving to the hearts that loved her so 
strongly, and prayed for her recovery, a gleam of 
hope that she would be spared to them. 

But their last hope fell dead in their aching 
hearts, when they saw the deathly pallor of the fair 
young face and the filmy haze of the soft brown 
eyes, that until now had kept their brightness. 

“ Mother!” The voice was low and the breath 
labored, but it was the first time since her illness 
that she had shown consciousness, and poor Mrs. 
Parkins stooped over her darling. What is it, 
love? she inquired, fondly. 

“It’s morning, is it not, mother?” said the 
dying girl. 

“ Yes, dear, and a nice morning, too,” was the 
mother’s answer, while her heart beat wildly with 
suppressed fear. 0 

“Where’s father?” was the next question 
from the pale lips. 


D eat Its Ravages. 


255 


^^Here, Lizzie, love. Do you want me?” and 
James Parkins tried hard to smile in his girl’s 
fast-changing face. 

“Oh!” she said, with a deep-drawn sigh, 
“I’m so sorry for both your sakes, that I could 
not stay to help you, but God knows best.” 
Then, after her mother had given her a draught of 
restorative cordial, she went on slowly, “That 
money I saved, mother, let Nora have it, to go to 
school ; she is stronger, and she wants to go so 
much. Don’t fret about me. I am so content to 
go. Bring the children.” And then, lapsing into 
he old childish babble, “When do you think 
it will be morning, mother \ I don’ t like the 
dark.” 

“ It will soon be morning, now, darling,” was 
the poor mother’s low answer. 

So all that day the stricken parents watched 
the fading face of their best-loved child, as it 
slowly but surely assumed the solemn mask of 
death, until, just toward evening, she awoke once 
more to consciousness. 

“Ah,” she whispered, a little fretfully, for 


256 


Death's Ravages. 


the room was all in shadow, ‘‘it’s growing dark 
again, mother.” Her father raised the curtain 
and let in on the dying girl a flood of golden 
light from the setting sun, just opposite the win- 
dow. 

“Are you afraid, Lizzie?” asked her mother, 
watching her child’s look of awe. 

“Afraid, mother?” And the mother in all 
her after life never forgot the almost amused 
wonder in the failing voice as she uttered the 
ejaculation, “How can I be afraid, when I am 
going home to my dear, kind Saviour, who bore 
His cross, and gave me one to bear for His dear 
sake? Harry,” as she looked from one to the 
other, until her gaze fell on the tall brother, who 
was sobbing in his uncontrollable sorrow, “ Harry, 
don’t cry, but try to comfort mother and father, 
and do try to live a good life.” 

But the last words were only whispered, and 
Lizzie never spoke again, for before the sun had 
faded in the west, and while yet its crimson and 
golden glory lingered around the stricken group, 
Lizzie lay still and lifeless on her couch, and all 


DeatJis Ravages, 


257 


her young ambitions, hopes and fears, were 
ended in this life forever. 

But while all who loved the brave, good girl 
sorrowed bitterly for her loss, it was only for 
themselves they grieved, for she, they knew, was 
blessed and favored in her going. 

And how was it faring in the mansion on the 
hill, while death was busy in the workman’s 
home ? 

Five days had elapsed since Mrs. Wentworth 
was stricken, when Dr. Murrey informed her 
husband that he could do no more for his patient, 
though he would be pleased to consult some 
other physician. 

But when the eminent physician from an 
adjoining city came, he only served to destroy 
all hope in the hearts of her friends, that the 
gentle lady would ever even recognize the loved 
ones at her bed, ere she took her flight away 
from them forever. 

And now, at last, Herbert Wentworth was 
realizing, that sin finds punishment, even in this 
world. All those weeks he had been feverishly 


258 


DeatKs Ravages. 


longing to hear of the death of the woman who 
held in her feeble hand such dreadful power to 
injure him, to destroy the sweet confiding faith 
in the heart of the woman he loved so i)assion- 
ately, that he would fain give his own life to save 
hers. 

Rachel Markham was dying, slowly but 
surely, and she had said that she would never 
betray their secret. Her certain death would 
render him safe from exposure, and he had there- 
fore longed with unspeakable yearning, to hear 
that she was silent forever. 

And he had x)romised one day long ago, 
when his fancy had been fired with admiration of 
her brilliant young beauty, to love and cherish 
her all the days that they both should live ; but 
he only loved this other woman now, the gentle 
lady who had lain in his bosom all those years^ 
and deemed that none other stood on earth 
between them. 

The news of the death of that other woman 
did not come ; but learned and wise physicians 
told him, sadly but firmly, that Mary, the wife of 


Deatlis Ravages. 


259 


his heart’s best love, would never rise up again 
in life. 

It was a bitter shock to the wicked, sinful 
man — and yet it may be questioned whether it 
was not best for the gentle woman, who now 
could never know the cruel wrong that had been 
done her. 

Mary Wentworth had sorrowed as a hoj)eful 
Christian might, when her baby boys had been 
taken away from her, but all through life she 
had been spared greater troubles, and now, at her 
life’s close, she was to be spared all shocks and 
terrors. 

Deaf alike to her husband’s strongly repressed 
grief, and Evelyn’s bitter sorrow, the dying lady 
lay gently breathing her life away. 

Only for one swift, passing moment did she- 
exhibit a gleam of consciousness. It was when 
Horace Stewart stood by her bed, where he had 
petitioned Mr. Wentworth to let him come for a 
moment, — for the young man’s heart was so sad 
for the sweet mother of his Evelyn. 

He was standing looking down in the quiet 


26 o 


DeatJis Ravages. 


face on the j^illow, when an impulse seized him; 
and he took in his own, one of the pale hands, 
murmuring, “Oh, mother!” for she had, indeed, 
been like a mother to him in the days gone by. 
On the moment she opened her eyes, and looked 
straight up at him with a tender smile, that was 
the last that ever wreathed the lips of Mary 
Wentworth, for it lingered until it changed 
only into the sad, pathetic smile on her lips, when 
they were sealed in death. 

So she was gone, and Herbert Wentworth 
might never fear to meet on earth, her clear, ac- 
cusing glance, when she would learn the story of 
that other woman, who might do and say all she 
wished or cared to do, now. 

With the only one on earth he cared for, save 
his daughter, — and he felt assured that Horace 
Stewart’s love would shield her, — dead in her 
stricken home, he cared nothing \yhat fate might 
do to him further, as he groaned and wept in the 
darkened solitude of his lonely room, while Eve- 
lyn, poor girl, in her distant chamber, was striv- 
ing, at the earnest solicitation of kind-hearted 


DeatJis Ravages, 


261 


Mrs. Murrey, to bear up in her terrible bereave- 
ment, which, indeed, the poor, loving daughter 
could scarcely, as yet, realize. 

Thus it will be seen, that death’s ravages were 
made with the dark angel’s usual impartiality, 
that season in Silverton. 


262 


A Christian Womans Will. 


CHAPTER XY. 

A CHRISTIAN WOMAN’S WILL. 

R achel MARKHAM was reclining mus- 
ingly on her couch, her hand clasping a 
little book she had been reading in the fading 
light, when her nurse entered the room. 

“Shall I light a lamp?” she asked with a 
tremble in her voice that caused the invalid to 
look at her intently. 

Mrs. Markham knew of the fever that was 
causing such sorrow in Silverton, and she knew, 
too, that Herbert \Yentworth’s wife was stricken 
down with the dread malady, for as her own dis- 
ease was one not rendered dangerous by casual 
happenings her attendants had not been entirely 
reticent before her. 

“Something is wrong, Martha,” she now 
said quietly, to the trembling woman. “ You may 
just tell me, for keeping it from me will only 
worry and fret me.” 


A CJiristian Womans Will, 263 


“I know it, Mrs. Markham,’’ declared the 
woman, ‘‘and I could just take shame to myself, 
for showing agitation before you, but I was so up- 
set at the news. She was the best friend I ever 
had, and indeed I don’t know how I’ll ever get on 
without her.” And Martha, the nurse, forgetting 
for the moment her imperative duty to suppress 
all signs of agitation before her patient, gave way 
to the tears that would come in spite of her. 

And then Mrs. Markham knew what was the 
cause of Martha’s grief. She had known all 
about the fever, and that Mrs. Wentworth was 
lying very ill with its worst form ; and she knew 
too, that the lady had been a kind and thought*- 
ful friend to Martha Way, who was a widow with 
two children to support. 

“Of course,” said the nurse, conquering her 
unwise emotion, “I would certainly have been 
more careful, but that I knew that you were not 
even well acquainted with Mrs. Wentworth, and 
the news of her death can scarcely shock you.” 

Martha Way was called a skillful nurse, 
though she had just now been careless enough to 


264 A Christian Womans Will 


run the risk of exciting her patient ; but skillful 
as she really was, she was entirely at fault now, 
when she supposed that her news bore no inter- 
est to the pale woman who heard it so quietly. 

“ If you will just give me my drink, and dar- 
ken the room, I think I could rest awhile, Mar- 
tha,” she said, slowly, without further comment 
on the nurse’s sad news ; and when the latter had 
complied with her requests, and left the room, 
with a somewhat injured feeling that her dear 
honored friend’s death could be passed over so 
easily, by even a casual acquaintance, Eachel 
Markham turned her face to the wall and wept 
unrestrainedly. 

And yet, it was not all sorrow for the lady, 
lying dead in the mansion on the hill, that caused 
her grief. It was rather sorrow, pure and simple, 
for herself ; and if there mingled in her sorrow, a 
little envy of the dead woman, who could wonder 
or blame her \ 

Mary Wentworth had lived her warmly-shel- 
tered, carefully-shielded life, and died believing 
the father of her children faithful and true, 


A Christian Womans Will, 


265 


while she, herself, lay there untended and alone, 
save for the care that hired attendance gave her, 
and for some moments the tears that fell from her 
weary eyes were very bitter indeed, until better 
thoughts came, and she thanked God, for the 
poor lady saved from all earthly enlightenment 
of her real position ; while as for the man who 
had wronged them both, — well he was drinking of 
his cup of sorrow now, and she would leave the 
rest to God. The jnnocent lady who had stood 
between them was gone, and therefore, there 
could be no sin to condone. For herself, the hus- 
band she had loved died to her on that summer 
day, long ago. 

It was two days after the death of Mrs. Went- 
worth that the train bearing Frank and Margery 
came thundering into the depot. 

The first one to meet them was Horace Stew- 
art, and he was so very grave and subdued in his 
greeting, that the happy pair became alarmed. 

“ My mother — ” began Frank, looking inquir- 
ingly in the face of his brother-iiirlaw. 

“Is no worse,” his partner assured him. 
12 


266 


A Christian Womans Will. 


“ But we have had a loss nevertheless,” he con- 
tinued. And then he related briefly the fact of 
the death of Evelyn’s mother. 

Of course the sad intelligence shocked them 
both, particularly Margery, who had loved the 
dead lady dearly. 

“ And 1 should never have dreamed of meeting 
you with the news,” added her brother, “but 
that the funeral is about to pass right by here, 
and you would have met a ruder shock else.” 

Margery was weeping silently ; it was a sad 
home-coming, but it could not be helped, and her 
brother hurried them into the carriage that stood 
waiting. But its progress was arrested just then, 
for the funeral arrived in sight, and the driver 
reined in his spirited horses to restrain their 
eagerness to be off. 

In the mourning coach sat Herbert Went- 
worth, with grief-bowed head, while Evelyn sat 
opposite, beside an elderly lady, an aunt of the 
dead lady, both in the deepest mourning. 

Some impulse, he could never tell what, 
caused the heart-stricken man to raise his head 


A Christian Womans Will. 


267 


at the moment of passing the station, when his 
gaze fell on the waiting carriage and its occu- 
I)ants, and just then the eyes of the father and 
son met, only for a moment, and the next the 
funeral cortege moved on, and the carriage bear- 
ing the newly- wedded pair was set free to speed 
on its way. 

It was only a passing incident, but it lingered 
in the dazed mind of Herbert Wentworth, even 
amid the solemn sounds at the grave of the 
woman he loved. 

Horace Stewart had left his place in the 
funeral cortege, to meet and warn his brother and 
sister ; but he hastened back when he had seen 
them safe at home, and he was close by Evelyn’s 
side, when she tottered weakly away from the 
brink of her mother’s grave. 

‘‘Lean on me, darling, and be brave,” he 
whispered, as he led her to the carriage, and 
then returned to lead away the dazed man, who 
seemed to have forgotten daughter and all, in his 
great sorrow. 

It had been, perhaps, the saddest occasion of 


268 


A Christiayi Womans Will. 


Mr. Winters’ life, when he was called to officiate 
at the funeral of the dear, kind-hearted lady, who 
had ever been his warm friend. But it was in the 
line of his duty, which he never shirked need- 
lessly, and while he felt that her loss would be 
irreparable among all who loved and honored her, 
his knowledge of her Christian character and deep 
religious faith assured him of her soul’s safety. 

When Frank and Margery greeted their 
mother, they were shocked to find the change 
that only a week had made in her. 

It had been the wish of Margery herself, to 
take up their abode with the invalid mother, in 
order that she might have the benefit of their con- 
stant care, for Rachel Markham would never 
more be left to the cold care of dependents. Her 
new daughter installed herself as head-nurse, and 
it was to the wise ingenuity and rare skill Mar- 
gery had inherited from her Scotch ancestors, that 
the slowly-fading woman owed many an allevia- 
tion of her weary days. 

And then it was, that Frank Markham 
thanked God in his heart, for his precious wife, 


A Christian Womans Will. 269 


who had come to him at a time when he so sadly 
needed her. 

Business was growing very brisk that fall in 
Silverton, and orders were flowing in, on the 
flourishing Arm of Stewart & Markham. 

Courteous treatment and reasonable wages 
had paid well in the main, and a better set of 
workmen were not to be found in Silverton. 

Certainly matters had improved greatly in the 
older factory, since Joe Banks was returned to 
his proper place. 

Of course it was too much to expect, that the 
average American workman would forever re- 
main quiescent under so much provocation for a 
joke. 

‘‘I say, boys,’’ the fun-loving Tom Peters 
would remark suddenly, ‘‘ old Joe must have 
got his pay raised since the old times, he never 
gives us a speech now, on the tyranny of the 
monopolists and the rights of the working man.” 

And then the men would laugh at Joe’s ex- 
pense, though the old ex-foreman would only 
scowl darkly and mutter something about fools. 


270 A Christian Woma 7 is Will. 


But on the whole, things were much im- 
proved ; for in these days, Mr. Bichards held a 
power, he had not possessed before, and as he 
had always entertained a belief in the wise i^olicy 
of treating his men fairly, as well as a close at- 
tention to the interest of his employers, the prof- 
its of the company were increased, and he found, — 
what Horace Stewart had always known, — that 
fair and generously-treated workmen always gave 
a larger percentage of x)rofit to employers. 

True it was, that Herbert Wentworth had on 
the other hand, amassed a fortune by the con- 
trary way of oppressing and cutting down his 
workmen on every occasion ; but his unwise prac- 
tice had gone far to run down his factory to a 
second-rate concern, and had well nigh destroyed 
the business, and well it was that other counsels 
had prevailed before it was too late, and the Sil- 
verton Manufacturing Co. was a concern of the 
past. 

But Herbert Wentworth had seemed of late to 
care little about the business of the factory, and 


271 


A Christian Womans Will. 


his place in the little, elegant, private office, was 
seldom occupied now. 

Nor did he take much interest now in the 
closing hours of the woman he had once called 
wife — for what mattered it to him, now that she 
was nearing her end ? Never, on this earth, could 
he right the wrong he had done to the gentle 
woman who slept so peacefully, with Ms name 
carved over her resting-place, — the name that of 
right belonged to- Frank’s mother. 

But all such earthly concerns would matter 
nothing very soon to the woman who was learn- 
ing, ere it was too late, that salvation mattered 
more than all to the soul that believed in 
Eternity. 

More than once, Mr. Winters came to sit be- 
side her couch, to speak cheering and hopeful 
words to the dying woman ; and while she 
remained dumb on the one dread secret of her 
life, — for in that she felt self-acquitted, — she con- 
versed freely and fully on spiritual things, ac- 
knowledging sadly her own short-comings while 


272 


A Christian Womans WilL 


she declared her faith and belief in God’s mercy 
and forgiveness for sinners. 

Very peacefully passed away the slow days of 
her decline, with so little suffering attached, that 
it seemed an atonement for her troubled life, and 
was a source of much comfort to the devoted 
young pair who cared for her so tenderly. 

And, just a day or two before her death, a 
sweet sad change came over the strong, firm intel- 
lect, that, until now, had resisted the burdens of 
care and adversity ; and for all the rest of her 
closing hours she was in fancy back again, 
among the scenes of her English village home, 
before the happiness of her life was wrecked by 
the cruel scheme of her false husband. 

And Margery, sitting beside her bed, and lis- 
tening to the murmured wandering speech of her 
dying mother-in-law, learned how deep and faith- 
ful in the sinking heart, had been her love for 
the husband of her youth, and deemed, in her 
blissful ignorance of the real state of tilings, that 
a happy reunion awaited her, when she should 
have reached the eternal shore. 


A Christian Womans Will. 


273 


The first snow of the season was falling in 
Silverton when Rachel died, and Mary Went- 
worth had been in her grave six weeks. 

In his solitary home, Herbert Wentworth 
heard of the death of Frank’s mother; but the 
news only caused a bitter smile to wreathe his 
hard mouth, for her death could do him no ser- 
vice now. 

It would have been a more terrible blow to 
Frank Markham, his mother’s death, but for the 
strong love of liis young wife Margery, who 
strove, by all her loving arts, to comfort her hus- 
band for the loss he had sustained in the mother 
who had so fondly and untiringly cared for him 
all through his fatherless boyhood and youth. 

When Mary Wentworth’s will was read, it 
was found that she had not forgotten her beloved 
church, nor the struggling poor. 

Of the large fortune which had come to her 
through her maternal grandfather, and which 
was her own to bestow absolutely, a sum was set 
apart to provide comfortable and convenient seats 
for persons unable to pay for seats, and who 
12* 


A Christian Woman's Will. 


274 


would otherwise be restricted to occupy seats at 
a noticeable distance from the preacher. 

A like sum was devoted to the payment of the 
remaining debt that had kept the beautiful Grran- 
ite Church from being entirely the property of its 
members. 

And among the many bequests, was one that 
touched to the core the sorrowing hearts of 
James Parkins and his wife, for by it a goodly 
sum was devoted to the maintenance of young 
people, boys and girls, who, while otherwise qual- 
ified and having passed examination, were unable 
to afford the expense of a finishing course at .the 
Normal or High school. 

“But what a pity it is,” said simple Mrs. 
Joice, when she heard of the will, “ that our rich 
people don’t do good with their money during 
their own lives. For if poor, dear Mrs. Wentworth 
had given that legacy a few years sooner, that 
IDrecious Lizzie Parkins might have got over the 
fever, for then she would not have been so 
cruelly overworked.” 

For i^atient, brave-hearted Lizzie had been a 


A Christian Womans Will. 


275 


special favorite with hard-working Mrs. Joice ; 
for when all the rest seemed to blame the mother 
for her constant and untiring belief in her wan- 
dering boy’s eventual home-coming, it was Liz- 
zie who chided them, and encouraged the mother 
to keep up the hope that kept her from despair- 
ing of his return. 

Bat if gentle Mrs. Wentworth’s legacy might 
never benefit dead Lizzie, at least it came in time 
for her sister, Nora ; for Evelyn, learning the 
dead girl’s sweet, sad story, aroused herself from 
her own great sorrow, to see that her darling 
mother’s legacy would serve to smooth the path 
of Lizzie’s sister. 

So Nora went to the High school, without 
touching the saved sum poor Lizzie had toiled so 
long and close to save. Rightly deeming it her 
own to spend, generous Nora insisted on devot- 
ing it to paying the debts, the weight of which 
had bowed her father’s shoulders and so thickly 
furrowed his brow, and helped to whiten her 
mother’s hair. 

For, as Nora sagely remarked, “ It was no 


276 A Christian Womans Will, 


shame to accept the gift of education from such a 
dear, good lady as Mrs. Wentworth.” And, as for 
Lizzie’s savings, Nora was quite sure her sister 
would be pleased, could she know to what pur- 
pose they had been devoted. 

Lizzie Parkins was sleeping in her quiet grave 
just three weeks, when young John Joice returned 
to fulfill her kind prophecy. 

He had grown tired of his wanderings, and 
yearned for a sight of the old home, that, though 
humble and bare, yet held hearts that loved him, 
and longed for his coming. Nor had he returned 
empty-handed ; all that he could set span from 
his earnings he had closely hoarded, until it was 
no mean sum he put into his mother’s hands, the 
morning after his return. 

John Joice had always been Lizzie’s favorite, 
so that now he possessed a sacred claim on the 
kind offices of her kindred, so much so, that gen- 
erous Harry Parkins exerted himself to find an 
opening in the factory for his old schoomate, and 
Mrs. Joice soon had the comfort of knowing her 


A Christian Womans Will. 


277 


wandering boy settled down, contented and in- 
dustrious in his new situation. 

Thus it proved, that though Lizzie never 
reached the goal of her dear ambition, her life had 
proved a good and salutary influence on those 
she left behind ; for her memory, with its beauti- 
ful lesson of patient endurance for a worthy end, 
lived in the hearts of her sisters and brothers, 
and helped them to live worthy lives. 


278 


A Divided Flock, 


CHAPTER XVI. 

A DIVIDED FLOCK. 

B ut perhaps if gentle Mrs. Wentworth could 
have foreseen the unhappy discord among 
the members of her beloved church, that grew 
out of her kind legacy, her will might have been 
differently worded, while devoted to the same 
charitable source. 

How as the legacy devoted to free seats for 
the poor members was looked upon as their law- 
ful inheritance by many whose real right as 
claimants might reasonably be questioned, the 
attendance soon became largely increased by a 
numerous party whose real principles were apt 
to be influenced by motives other than stern 
piety. 

As has been seen, there had already been a 
strong party to whom Mr. Wentworth’s will had 
been the law of their actions in regard to the 
business of the church. But Herbert Wentworth 


A Divided Flock, 


279 


had ceased to lead them now, and for a time they 
permitted the affairs of the church to be conduc- 
ted by the other side, who had heretofore been 
the minority. Of course, such a state of things 
could not last, where thought and feeling were so 
widely divided, as Mr. Winters himself was fated 
to discover. 

In the olden time of the present pastor, 
the music had been carefully selected, and skill- 
fully rendered, while wholly subservient to the 
other services of the church, and in those days it 
was deemed satisfactory ; but a change had come 
to the tastes and requirements of the people of 
the Grranite Church, since the advent of the Rev. 
Mr. Wei ton, of wonderful fame. 

At first Mr. Winters tried to restore the old 
style of music, without exciting the discordant 
elements of his people. Himself a devoted lover 
of refined music, he would never have favored any- 
thing crude or discordant with a sense of fitness ; 
but that all other accessories should be made to 
give way to the requirements of fashionable 


A Divided Flock, 


280 


music was too much at variance with his duty as 
pastor, to be passed over without protest. 

Now, the gentleman who at this time filled 
the post of paid organist in the church had been 
engaged at the recommendation of the former 
pastor, Mr. Welton. Of his right to style himself 
a first-class professor of the art of music, no one 
might question, for in all things pertaining to 
music he was unquestionably at home. But on 
the other hand, his religious jDrinciples were 
loose in the extreme, and it came at length to be 
the pastor’s duty to remonstrate with the organ- 
ist for his outspoken atheism. 

That one engaged in the high calling of the 
service of praise, as the pastor deemed it, should 
so ojpenly deny his belief in God’s existence, 
was not to be considered — and so he kindly, but 
firmly intimated to Professor Harrison. 

Now, as the latter had never taken kindly to 
Mr. Winters, who had been called to the Granite 
Church in opposition to the wishes of the organ- 
ist and his friends, of whom there was quite a 
powerful faction among the members, the min- 


A Divided Flock. 


281 


ister’s remonstrance was received in anything 
but a friendly feeling, and it was noticeable, 
that from that time the professor’s irreligious 
utterances became more rash and outspoken 
than ever. 

Finding himself powerless to stem the current 
of discord that threatened to blight the peace 
and harmony so necessary to his own usefulness, 
Mr. Winters called a meeting of his people, in 
order to lay the whole matter before them, and 
endeavor to set matters right. 

And the principal matter to be discussed, 
was whether the professor should be re-engaged 
for the coming year, his present term being 
about to end. 

When the meeting of the friends and enemies 
of the professor began to discuss the business of 
the evening, it was found that by far the larger 
portion of voices there were raised in favor of 
retaining the organist, although he had refused 
to retract his atheistic beliefs. And then Mr. 
Winters saw plainly that his usefulness was over, 
and he might seek in vain to overcome the influ- 


282 


A Divided Flock. 


ence the professor seemed to have gained among 
the majority of his people. 

The deacons,. — themselves somewhat blindly 
led by one of the members, Mr. Maurdant, a gentle- 
man who, since the retirement from the affairs of 
the church of Mr. Wentworth, had posed as 
leader, were wedded to the defense of the profes- 
sor, — voted to retain him, in spite of the opposi- 
tion of Horace Stewart and others of well-known 
worth. 

So Professor Harrison was retained for another 
year, and his success was owing largely to the 
influence of Mr. Maurdant, who, though not a dea- 
con himself, was the leading voice among them, 
as well as the no insignificant number who owed 
to his management their occupation of the free 
seats. 

And so, although Mr. Winters had not yet 
completed the year of his term, he was forced to 
acknowledge to himself that he was powerless to 
unite together the warring parties of his flock, 
and it would be better, he considered, to retire 
once more from the field of his present work. 


A Divided Flock. 


283 


It was a few days after the night of the meet- 
ing, and a few friends were spending the evening 
at the pleasant residence of Dr. Murrey. 

“And what do you think we are coming to, 
doctor,” remarked Mr. Howard, to his host, “ when 
such a man as Professor Harrison is to carry his 
own opinions in despite of us older members of 
our church 

“ Well, Mr. Howard,” returned the doctor, 
with a sly smile, “you know, of course, that I 
am not really of your church, and therefore may 
not be considered to offer an opinion on its work- 
ings. But if I were to hazard an opinion,” he con- 
tinued, “I should say that the Granite Church, 
in the persons of its representatives, has signed 
its own condemnation — at least for the present.” 

“And I agree with you there, doctor,” re- 
plied his guest, “for I, for one, will never 
uphold the retention of Professor Harrison.” 
And, as the speaker was one of the richest of the 
congregation, his disapproval might be looked 
upon as of serious moment to the prosperity of 
the church. 


284 


A Divided Flock, 


‘‘ Nor 1,” spoke up another gentleman, who, 
as a rather heavy stockholder in the Silverton 
Bronze Company, would be a serious loss to the 
pecuniary success of the church. “If, as I under- 
stand,’' he continued, “Mr. Winters is to be let 
go at the end of his present year, with no effort 
made to retain him, I will withdraw from all con- 
nection with the Granite Church of Silverton.” 

At a little distance from the speakers sat 
Horace Stewart ; he had been engaged in a som^ 
what jocular conversation with the volatile Mrs. 
Moore, who, it would seem, was heart and soul 
for her favorite, Professor Harrison. 

“And don’t you think, Mr. Stewart,” she 
was saying, “that it is quite impolite of Mr. 
Winters to form such a sweeping condemnation 
of our dear professor, whose splendid talents, I 
am sure, should insure him civility, at least ?” 

Horace Stewart smiled, but a close observer 
might have detected just the faintest sneer ac- 
companying the smile that met the lady’s eye, 
as he answered : 

“1 never contradict a lady, Mrs. Moore, or 


A Divided Flock. 


285 


else I would say, that in my opinion, your dear 
professor has had too much civility shown him, 
considering the arrogant way he has met our pas- 
tor’s mild protests.” 

‘‘Then you are on the Rev. Mr. Winters’ side, 
I see,” declared the lady, with a touch of acer- 
bity, for in truth Mr. Stewart was never a favorite 
of hers, as our readers may remember. 

“I am on the side of right and justice, in 
everything,” replied the gentleman, still smiling 
in the face of the irate lady. 

“ Oh yes, I might have remembered that your 
views are sure to be of a radical nature,” was the 
lady’s very impolite rejoinder. However,” she 
went on, “Mr. Winters will lind that he can never 
rule our church, nor prevent us from having what 
style of music we may choose to have,” and the 
lady flushed hotly, as she fanned herself vigor- 
ously. 

Horace Stewart looked at his fiery little 
neighbor with an amused smile, but offered no 
interruption to her flowing remarks, but a feeling 
of intense disgust was his next emotion to re- 


286 


A Divided Flock. 


member, that just sucli empty-minded, rash-judg- 
ing ones as this loud-voiced, and not too well- 
bred lady, had power to destroy the peace and 
I)rosx)erity of the church of his fathers. However, 
just at present, he could see no clear way out of 
the difficulty, and while Professor Harrison’s 
music was secured to them for another year, Mr. 
Winters had announced that he would not remain 
after the close of his term, although, indeed, as 
the matter stood, he would scarcely receive a call 
from the majority. 

Meanwhile, in order to understand how the 
lower stratum of the people of the church were 
united on the difficulty, let us peep in at a so- 
cial tea, held in the plainly-furnished, but com- 
fortable sitting-room, at the home of Mrs. Banks, 
one of the members. 

Almost a year had gone by since the death of 
Lizzie Parkins, but the present was the first occa- 
sion of the poor mother’s visiting, save when 
called into her neighbors’ houses on sick calls. 
Her poor girl’s death had prostrated her at the 
time, and after, she had no heart for social 


A Divided Flock, 


287 


exchanges. But this time she had overruled her 
usual dislike to go out, and now she was sitting 
at the appetizing tea-table, while on either side 
of her sat Mrs. Joice and Mrs. Taylor. 

“ Now, do have some of this nice strawberry 
short-cake, Mrs. Parkins,” urged the latter. ‘‘ It’s 
just the nicest I’ve tasted this season.” And she 
smiled congratulations at the hostess who flut- 
tered here and there among her guests, looking 
after their comfort. 

“Well, I don’t think it’s quite as good as I 
usually make,” returned Mrs. Banks, feeling all 
the time that the same could not be beat by any 
one of her guests. 

For some time the viands before them formed 
the subject of their conversation, until, that ex- 
hausted, the church troubles, which, indeed, had 
been the motive that called them together in 
such a large number, came to the surface. 

“ Was you to evening service, last Sunday, 
Mrs. Parkins ?” began Mrs. Taylor. “And was 
youl” she turned to ask of her neighbor, Mrs. 
Joice, with an utter disregard of grammar 


288 


A Divided Flock. 


that was a characteristic of our friend, Mrs. 
Taylor. 

Then both the ladies answered in the affirm- 
ative. She continued : “ Well, what do you both 
think of Mr. Winters’ sermon ? I do think, 
myself, that it was just the most unprovoked 
attack on Mr. Harrison that I ever listened to, 
and I just wonder how the professor ever stood it 
— I do.” And she paused to take breath. 

“Well, I don’t know why Mr. Harrison or 
anybody else should take offense at anything Mr. 
Winters said in his Sunday evening sermons!” 
answered Mrs. Joice, disapprovingly. ‘‘ What do 
we go to church for, if we don’ t wish to hear 
that there is without doubt a God in Heaven ? 
And to the best of my remembrance that was the 
burden of the pastor’s sermon, last Sunday even- 
ing. Just pass the butter, Mrs. Parkins, if you 
please.” 

“Well,” sniffed the now angry Mrs. Taylor, 
“you need not take me up quite so short, Mrs. 
Joice. But I will maintain that he need not have 
spent a whole sermon-time, just telling us what 


A Divided Flock. 


289 


we know jusfc as well as he does, and I am sure 
that he was just hinting at Mr. Harrison — so 
there! What do you think, Mrs. Parkins she 
asked her silent neighbor. 

Why, Mrs. Taylor, I can’t but think as Mrs. 
Joice does — that there seemed to be no offense 
offered to anyone in the pastor’s sermon ; but that 
need not cause us to be cross with each other, 
Mrs. Taylor.” And Mrs. Parkins smiled in a 
mollifying manner at the hasty tempered lady, 
who rejoined, nevertheless : 

‘‘Well, Pm for Mr. Harrison, anyway, and I 
don’t, for the life of me, see why Mr. Winters 
wants to go stirring up troubles in the church 
just because of his over-strianed notions, and I’d 
like to know what difference it makes, anyhow, 
about the professor’s religious sentiments.” 

“ That’s all well enough,” retorted her oppo- 
nent, Mrs. Joice, returning to the conflict with a 
firmness due to her desire to uphold her honored 
pastor. “But, surely, Mrs. Taylor, you don’t 

want Mr. Winters to let the organist choose 
13 


290 


A Divided Flock, 


whatever music — pagan or operatic — just as he 
likes, for the church services.” 

Oh, I don’t profess to be up in music, if you 
do, Mrs. Joice ; but what suits such ladies as Mrs. 
Mace and Mrs. Maurdaunt, and their husbands, is 
about right, and I’m right jjleased that the pro- 
fessor is engaged for the next year.” 

“You ladies are eating just nothing at all,” 
declared Mrs. Banks, the hostess, from the other 
end of the table. But the statement was received 
with smiles and nods of assurance that they were 
enjoying themselves immensely. 

Thus the reader may perceive that, in the very 
heart of the congregation of the Silverton Granite 
Church a feud was forming, that threatened to 
destroy all peace and harmony, and check its 
pecuniary and Christian prosperity. 

For some months the troubles grew, until, at 
length, it all ended in the pastor’s resignation, 
leaving the splendid edifice, which so much labor 
and money had raised, to remain closed, Sunday 
after Sunday, while that portion of its members 
and attendants who desired still to observe some 


A Divided Flock, 


291 


form of religious worship strayed one by one to 
the different churches of Silverton, to the secret 
delight of the various denominations, who had 
watched the dissensions in their contemporary 
with placid amusement. 

But such a state of things could not be per- 
mitted to go on forever. 

The professor’s triumph had not brought to 
him much of solid success. For, with the church 
closed, his services as organist were a superfluity, 
and he was forced to seek in a neighboring city 
the favor from some other people, who would be 
more united in his various perfections and de- 
fects. 

Meantime, there was no work being done 
through the means of the people of the Granite 
Church, — the splendid ediflce that w^as to crown 
all the spiritual work done by all the other 
churches of the city ; and its people, coming, at 
length, to see their folly, resolved to meet and en- 
deavor to combine on some compromise that 
would again give them the services that they had 
been de^orived of so long. 


292 


A Divided Flock. 


Now it hapiDened that the Messrs. Maurdaunt 
and Hastings, — the two gentlemen who had been 
the loudest in defense of the professor, and had, 
through their influence, been the leading factors 
in the defection that had ended in the long-closed 
doors of the costly structure, — had met together 
in the house of the latter, and talked the matter 
over. 

‘‘It is a deplorable state of affairs, I grant 
you,” was Mr. Maurdaunt’ s musing comment, in 
answer to a remark of his host. 

“Well, look here, Maurdant,” said the latter, 
“ what do you say to you and I withdrawing 
altogether, from the management of the church ? 
We have held on too long, as it is, and have become 
the wonder and remark of the whole county — 
a church like ours to be closed so long, its mem- 
bers scattered everywhere, and a useless burden 
of care and expense bearing on the shoulders of 
you and I and the rest of the committee.” 

“ You have voiced my exact sentiments, Hast- 
ings,” was his companion’s answer, “and I will 
go further, and say, that I am quite ready to 


A Divided Flock, 


293 


resign my part of the management, and to advise 
the resignation of the whole of the present com- 
mittee/’ 

“ Then, as we are united on that point, would 
it not be advisable to call a meeting of the dea- 
cons and settle the business at once?’’ questioned 
Hastings, anxious now to get entirely rid of the 
weight of responsibility that of late had been to 
him, as the burden of Sinbad had been to that 
much-pitied sailor. 

So it was that the meeting was held. The 
deacons resigned in a body, and a new committee 
was formed, to whom was delegated the work of 
seeking for a pastor who could be induced to 
risk the changing whims and unreasonable de- 
mands of the congregation, whose troubles and 
contentions had formed an interesting subject for 
the press of the country for almost two years. 

And yet, strange as it was, a gentleman was 
found, who consented to come among them, to 
try to connect the discordant elements. 

But, after all, the task that the Kev. Henry 
Garritson undertook, with some misgivings, it 


294 


A Divided Flock, 


must be averred, proved not so difficult of accom- 
plishment. 

Their lesson in adversity had served to teach 
the dissenting members that they alone were not 
competent to, — if we may borrow a slangish ex- 
pression, — run things, in the church concerns. 
And they were now willing to leave the choice 
of music, and some other things as important, to 
the wise and cultured taste of their new pastor, 
Mr. Garritson, who, in return, tried to combine a 
due regard to the sacred character of the services 
with a reasonable deference to the tastes and 
wishes of the people he had come to teach. 

And thus, to the great relief of the people of 
Silverton, the far-famed feud was ended, and 
once again peace and harmony reigned, except- 
ing, indeed, for the few malcontents, who are 
always to be found in any large community ; 
but then their wings were so very badly clipped 
that they were now quite harmless. 

“And it was all the fault of them deacons — 
it was,” declared Mrs. Taylor, to her friend Mrs. 


A Divided Flock, 


295 


Banks, and I’m glad,” she added, “ that they’ve 
resigned for good and all.” 

But the good woman forgot her own great 
share in their former troubles of the church. 


296 


Weddmg Bells. 


CHAPTER XVII. 

WEDDING BELLS. 

T WO summers’ suns and winters’ snows had 
fallen on the grave of Mary Wentworth, 
ere her daughter would consent to accept life- 
long happiness, and become the wife of her 
faithful lover, Horace Stewart. 

‘‘For we have waited so long for our happi- 
ness, Evelyn darling !” he had said to her, when, 
at the end of the first year, he had urged her to 
name the day of their union. 

“Not yet, Horace !” she had replied, with a 
shake of her head. “ Give me another year to 
mourn for my dear, dear mother, and then all 
the rest of my life to you, Horace !” 

And with this answer he was fain to be con- 
tent, for he, too, had loved the gentle lady — his 
Evelyn’s mother. 

And yet, after all, it was not grief for her 
mother, dear as she mourned her, that alone 


Wedding Bells. 


297 


actuated Evelyn in her refusal to hasten her mar- 
riage with Horace Stewart. 

Something of late had aroused her suspicions 
that all was not right with her father, and she 
could only think that some financial loss was 
troubling him, and her unselfish love for him 
prompted her to postponing her separation from 
him, in his strange depression of spirits. 

He had loved her mother so well, she knew, 
that her loss was, indeed, a cruel blow to him ; 
but as the months went .by and he recovered no 
measure of his former spirits, a fear began to fill 
her heart, that he would never recover from his 
great bereavement. 

And yet, all that the devoted daughter could 
fancy in her wildest imaginings, could never 
reach the real state of the brooding horror that 
had grown to be the daily and nightly portion of 
Herbert Wentworth. 

He had shrank as one wounded mortally, 
when he had listened to the reading of his gentle 
partner’s will. All unknowing, from her very 
grave, the woman he had loved to the very core 
13 * 


298 


Wedding Bells. 


of his worldly heart, had reproved him for his 
life-long love of gain, for in her remembrance of 
her poorer fellows-beings, she had recorded her 
total disapproval of his selfish practices ; although, 
indeed, truth to tell, the gentle lady had had no 
thoughts of wounding him by its provisions. 

And as he X3ondered over the past, he writhed 
in secret over all that was now of no moment to 
the woman, sleeping in her peaceful grave beside 
his infant sons. 

When the first year of mourning was ended, he 
had joined his voice to Horace Stewart’s, to urge 
Evelyn to end the term of engagement ; for 
though he shrank from parting from his daugh- 
ter, he yet was conscious of an inward fear, that 
something, he dared not conjecture what, would 
arise to rob his Evelyn of her happiness ; but 
even his pleading was in vain — Evelyn was firm 
in her resolve to mourn two years for her dear 
mother. 

But at last it dawned, the day that Horace 
Stewart had waited for so long. 

Those two years had softened somewhat the 


299 


Wedding Bells. 

o 


grief, and in a measure the dull weight of remorse 
in the heart of Evelyn’s father, and he had grown 
to desire, above everything else, to see his daugh- 
ter wedded to the man who had waited so long to 
win her. 

And now again, the trees in Silver ton are 
bright in all the glory of autumn tints and ripe 
foliage, and the sun sheds his golden share to the 
sum that makes the wedding-day of sweet Eve- 
lyn Wentworth a day of days, indeed. 

She had waited so long for her happiness, but 
it had come to her now, at last, in the bright 
bloom of her womanhood, with the exquisite 
beauty of her girlhood matured and softened 
by her early trials and sorrows, nobly borne. 

And the people of Silverton, without regard 
to creed or race, rejoiced in the happiness of the 
patient pair, to whom its crown had come at last ; 
but perhaps it was as much of tender gratitude to 
her dead mother as love for herself and bride- 
groom, that impelled the members of the Granite 
Church to outdo themselves, in their efforts to 
honor the fair bride, so that when the bridal 


300 


Wedding Bells. 


party entered the church, they were agreeably 
startled at the sight of the brilliant floral decora- 
tions. 

But Herbert Wentworth paled to the lips, 
when the service was ended, and he knew that 
Evelyn was the wedded wife of Horace Stewart. 

But was it strange, that the man who had 
proved so false to his own plighted vows, should 
doubt that other man, that had so long loved his 
Evelyn % How could he know that Horace Stew- 
art’s love was to his own like light to darkness \ 
For while he himself had given to the mother of 
his little dead sons and this fair bride, a place 
and name that of right belonged to another, Hor- 
ace Stewart had kept his manhood fair and unsul- 
lied, that he might be worthy of his Evelyn’s 
love. And yet, had he known of the blight that, 
all unknown to herself, sullied the name she had 
borne all her young life, it would have made no 
difference in the homage and tenderness of his 
love for his promised wife, nor served to deter 
him from demanding the fulfillment of her prom- 


ise. 


Wedding Bells. 


301 


And was ifc any wonder, that these strange 
misgivings should stir to the core the heart of the 
man who now stood listening to the words that 
bound this younger x)air together ? — for very near 
to the bridal pair stood Frank Markham and his 
wife, sweet Margery. 

Nor could his thoughts keep from going back 
to another scene in the little English village 
where a similar ceremony had been ]3erformed, 
and he himself and this young man’s mother had 
been the chief actors ; and was it not the very 
sarcasm of destiny, that his fair sweet Evelyn 
should have formed such a close friendship with 
the man who was indeed her brother ? 

It was over at last, and the Rev. Mr. Winters 
had performed the pleasantest ceremony of his 
life. He had much revered this fair bride’s 
mother, and he had deemed it a privilege to be 
invited to join the hands of the faithful pair. 

And then, Horace Stewart took his hard-won 
wife away from the scenes of their joys and sor- 
rows, that together they might enjoy the scenes 


302 


Wedding Belts. 


and sights of the Old World, that is yet so new 
and strange to sight-seeking travelers. 

And it was i)artly owing to the long years he 
had devoted to his business that rendered this 
possible ; and then too, he had no fears for the 
business, that was sure to prosper in the skillful 
hands of his young partner, Frank Markham, 
ably assisted by our old friend, James Parkins, 
who was now foreman. 

Both of the young people had strongly urged 
Mr. Wentworth to accompany them abroad — he 
would be so lonely when she was gone, Evelyn 
said to him, and they would feel happier, know- 
ing him happy. But the loving daughter never 
guessed why he paled so suddenly at her fond 
request ; for how could she know that a vision of 
his one trip abroad came swiftly up before him, 
bringing with it a pang of bitter regret % 

For more than a year the married lovers 
roamed about, meeting, now and then, some party 
from home ; but for the most part, finding in each 
other’s company the sympathy they desired, 


Wedding Bells, 


303 


and enjoying to the fall the happy destiny that 
had come to them at last. 

Meantime in his lonely mansion Herbert 
Wentworth lived on alone — that is, when not en- 
gaged in the management of the business, which 
had grown to larger proportions of late. 

And it was a topic of comment, that Mr. 
Wentworth seemed to take a new interest in the 
business, and that too, although it was known 
that he was already quite wealthy, and Evelyn 
was his only child. 

Well, the gossips said, it was to deaden his 
grief for the wife he had loved so well, that he 
was plunging anew into business. 

But when the meeting of the directors took 
place semi-annually, it was noticed that Mr. 
Wentworth drew heavily on his principal, although 
it was of no material interest to the company, he 
being the heaviest stockholder among them. But 
what was he doing with the large caihtal. But the 
courtly cashier of the Bank of Silver ton could 
have told them, if asked, that Mr. Wentworth 
had paid in large sums to his own credit, and 


304 


Wedding Bells, 


% 

that the fund already in the bank’s custody, 
belonging to the same gentleman far exceeded 
that of any other one person in Silverton. 

And yet it was plain to any who might 
chance to observe his ways and movements, that 
his grief was still as deej) ; as when the sods 
were for the first time i)iled on the silent form 
of gentle Mrs. Wentworth. Yes, his grief was 
deep, but perhaps remorse had a large share in 
the weight of trouble that was fast undermining 
the springs of his life. 

He was leaning in his favorite attitude, in his 
usual resort at his wife’s grave, one pleasant au- 
tumn evening. 

It was the anniversary of his Evelyn’s wed- 
ding day, and the young people were soon to 
come home. Indeed, it had been Evelyn’s 
expressed desire to return home long ere this ; 
but, circumstances had overruled her wishes, and 
he himself had repeatedly enjoined her to pro- 
long her stay in the pretty Florentine village, 
whose health-dealing breezes had so wonderfully 
restored her from the dangerous malaria caught 


Wedding Bells, 


305 


in the swamp air of Rome, for it was before the 
Eternal City had been redeemed from the mias- 
matic danger of its waste suburbs. 

And here it was, in the pretty vine-clad cot- 
tage on the outskirts of the city of Florence, 
that Evelyn’s little son was born ; and only one 
wish possessed the affectionate daughter — that 
she might put her little son in her father’s arms 
and bid him bless her infant. 

But Herbert Wentworth smiled a strange, sad 
smile, that had no mirth or even happiness. 
Re give his blessing to his dead Mary’s grand- 
son. And this was the burden of his thoughts 
that fair, sweet, autumn evening, as he stood 
looking down at the mound at his feet. Ah, he 
had never learned to do without her in all the 
months since her loss ; and he never would, he 
told himself — for well he knew that the spring of 
his life was broken, and he was fast nearing the 
unknown future. Ah, well! he had sinned, he 
knew, — and sinned heavily, — but he would try to 
make amends after his death to the son he had 
so cruelly wronged ; but he could never bear to 


3o6 


Wedding Bells. 


meet the clear eyes of his Evelyn after his 
secret was revealed. 

And while thus he mused in the glow of the 
setting sun, a figure darkened the walk for a 
moment, and he looked up to meet the pitying 
glance of his old-time hete noir^ Frank Markham. 

Margery’s happy husband had matured into 
a singularly handsome man, and it was, i:)er- 
haps, not the least of this unhappy father’s pun- 
ishment that he could never claim from him a 
son’s affection, or exult openly in his perfect 
manhood. 

Under the sod at his feet slept the little sons, 
who were the children of the woman he had 
loved so passionately, while, tall and strong in 
the splendid prime of noble manhood, there 
stood before him the only son of her who slept 
not far away from where they stood — the father 
and son — to only one of whom their relationship 
was known. And at the thought a strange, sad 
yearning took birth in the heart of the man who 
had so long denied the promptings of nature, and 
he held out his hand to the younger man, who. 


Wedding Bells. 


307- 


ever ready to respond to the advances of Evelyn’s 
father, took and grasped it heartily. 

Their connection through the marriage of 
Horace and Evelyn more than once brought the 
two men into somewhat intimate relations, but 
never before had the elder man made such 
friendly advances, so that, while Frank was 
gratified he was nevertheless, somewhat sur- 
prised. 

“ So our travelers are coming home soon, they 
tell me,” was the young man’s remark, after a 
pause. 

‘‘I have written to advise them to winter in 
Florence,” answered Mr. Wentworth, as the two 
strolled slowly on until they were close beside 
the neat inclosure within which reposed Frank’s 
mother. 

It had been Rachel’s request, that no rec- 
ord should be placed over her last resting place, 
and, therefore, only the sweetest fiowers marked 
the grave on which Herbert Wentworth’s gaze 
was riveted. 

“I wronged your mother once,” he said, in a 


3o8 


Wedding Bells. 


dreary tone, his eyes still bent on the mound be- 
fore him. “ Bid she never hint the same to you, 
Mr. Markham And his voice faltered strangely, 
as he uttered the young man’s name. 

“Oh, yes, but it did not trouble her for long,” 
was Frank’s reply, while Mr. Wentworth waited 
for his next words with bated breath. “ You re- 
fer, of course, to your purchase of the house my 
mother lived in, and her great dislike to you as a 
landlord ; it was only a trifling matter to her, 
after all, and she grew to like the new home bet- 
ter than her old one. My dear mother,” he added, 
with a sigh, as he stooped to arrange some flow 
ers that were displaced, ‘‘ had become used to giv. 
ing up her own will, and so held not for long her 
oft’ense at what you will pardon me for calling 
your unkind act.” 

“ Yes, it was a very unkind act,” assented his 
companion, “but I was punished for it. But I 
wish to ask you something,” he went on. “Will 
you yourself, forgive me, here at your mother’s 
grave, for whatever wrong I have done to either, 
and further, will you promise me, that when I am 


309 


Wedding Bells. 

gone, you will not refuse to accept what small re- 
urn I may deem it wise to make to you?” 

Frank Markham looked up in his companion’s 
face in surprised incredulity, that his once 
haughty enemy should be pleading so earnestly 
to him. 

‘‘Mr. Wentworth,” he said, with his clear 
eyes raised full in that gentleman’s face, “if I 
ever held anger towards you, for fancied slight- 
er other annoyances, it is over long ago, and you 
have my full and free forgiveness. And as for any 
token you may deem fitting to leave me by and- 
l3y — why!” and he smiled j^leasantly, “we are 
relations now, you know, and I would be churl- 
ish to refuse it.” 

“You have lifted a weight from off my heart, 
and may God bless you for it,” was Mr. Went- 
worth’s reply, as he grasped the younger man’s 
hand ere they parted, never to meet again in life. 

Frank Markham turned away from that quiet 
spot, with strange thoughts stirring within him, 
but could he have known the strange secret, that 
had almost trembled on the lips of his unknown 


310 


Wedding Bells. 


parent, he would have hesitated, at least, ere he 
bound himself by a pledge, from which he would 
one day shrink with angry dismay. 

Meantime Herbert Wentworth w^ent straight 
from the grave of Eachel Markham, to his own 
now silent home, where his lawyer waited an 
appointment with him. 

But Lawyer Davidson raised his eyebrows in 
a maze of surprise, as he listened to the wording 
of Herbert Wentworth’s will 

Do I understand you to say,” he stopped to 
inquire of his client, ‘‘ that you leave your prop- 
erty to so and so ?” And he repeated the lega- 
tee’s name. 

‘‘You understand me perfectly aright,” his 
client replied, somewhat coldly. “Please go 
on.” So the will was completed, and the house- 
keeper and butler, being called in, set down their 
names as witnesses, and Mr. Davidson v/ent away 
with it closely buttoned up in the inner pocket of 
his dress coat, for he was bound to a whist party 
in the neighborhood. 

Some few days after this event, the people of 


Wedding Bells, 


311 


Silverton were startled to hear of the sudden 
death of its once great magnate, Herbert Went- 
worth. 

He had been found in his favorite position in 
the library, sitting in his easy-chair, his head 
drooped on his clasj)ed hands, with the sweet 
pictured eyes of his fondly-loved Mary looking 
serenely down on his lifeless form, and a little 
book of devotion lying open before him. Heart- 
disease was the verdict of the i)hysicians, and 
truly it might be termed that wasting malady 
that had eaten to the core of this poor dead man’s 
heart. 

For that long-past sin of his youth, he had 
writhed in such regret and remorse as no human 
could long withstand and live, until death had 
mercifully come in the quiet midnight to end his 
pain. And thus let us leave him, to the judg- 
ment of Him who said, “ Judge not, lest ye shall 
be judged.” 


312 


Sister and Brother, 


CHAPTER XVIIL 

SISTER AND BROTHER. 

H orace STEWART was startled one day 
by a message from home. A message, 
the import of which caused him to fear its sud- 
den revelation to his Evelyn, who at that moment 
was engaged in the pleasant task of superintend- 
ing the toilet of her little son. 

And in truth, his fears were realized, when at 
first the violence of Evelyn’s grief threatened to 
lay her on a bed of sickness ; for, in spite of all 
the loving husband could remind her, that it had 
been her father’s almost command that she 
should not venture on the long voyage home until 
her strength was fully restored, she reproached 
herself bitterly for letting him die alone. 

But her one desire now, was to go home. And 
as further delay only served to increase her fever- 
ish anxiety to look upon her dear father’s resting- 
place, they were soon on the way home. Poor 


Sister and Brother, 


313 




Evelyn’s sorrow was intense, but it was softened 
immeasurably, in that she could weep her will on 
her fond husband’s breast. 

It had been Herbert Wentworth’s last written 
directions, that his will should not be opened un- 
til the return of his daughter and her husband, 
and he had left a letter for Evelyn’s eyes alone, 
to be read before his will was opened. 

And Evelyn learned the reason when she read 
her father’s letter, — the letter he had written on 
that last night of his life, when he had sat at his 
library table, with the eyes of Evelyn’s mother 
looking calmly down on him. 

“And when you remember, my daughter,” the 
letter went on to say, after it had revealed all the 
dark story that the reader has already learned of 
Rachel’s husband, “you will try to remember, 
that it was my love for your own dear mother, 
that actuated me in concealing my former mar- 
riage ; and it may soften your knowledge of my 
wrong-doing, to remember, too, that she lived and 
died happy in my love. But it may seem only an 

added crime in your pure eyes, my Evelyn, that 
14 


Sister and Brother. 


3H. 


I made your mother’s marriage with me as legal 
as a divorce jprocured by skillful connivance 
could render it. But after all,” the letter wound 
up by entreating, ‘‘after all, Evelyn, my last, 
best hope in your forgiveness, lies in the fact that 
your father will have passed away, ere he meets 
the gaze of your pure, clear eyes, when he asks 
you to pardon his sin against you, and she whom 
I will have met face to face, ere then.” 

If the revelation of the sin of her father’s life 
fell like a hand of ice on her heart, and for the 
time crowded out all other consequences, at least 
it had the salutary effect of directing Evelyn’s 
mind from what otherwise would have caused her 
the most poignant grief — namely, her father’s 
new-made grave. 

At first, indeed, she was only intensely be- 
wildered ; but later, when the whole strange story 
was made clear to her senses, a curious feeling 
stole over her — a feeling of intense thankfulness 
that her own dear mother had never known this 
dreadful story of her father’s shame — and this 
feeling was succeeded by a thought of tender pity 


Sister and Brother. 


315 


for her father himself, who, in the lonely solitude 
of those last sad days, had in a measure expiated 
the sin of his youth. 

But Horace — he must be told, for was he not 
her other self % And knowing the unselfishness 
of his love, she felt no fear of his opposition to 
her father’s will, in which, the letter stated, 
Frank Markham was a beneficiary to a considera- 
ble extent. 

And Evelyn judged rightly in regard to her 
husband ; he had waited too long for the wife he 
had loved so truly — the one love of his life — to 
let aught on earth change that love. Nor could 
all the dark stories of other’s sins, while he still 
possessed his Evelyn’s love and faith. 

As for Herbert Wentworth’s wealth, he had 
never coveted it— he himself had enough and to 
spare ; and for the rest, it was his sister Margery’s 
husband who was to be enriched. 

With the letter addressed to Evelyn was 
another, addressed to Frank Markham, the read- 
ing of which was an intense surprise, mingled 
with a feeling of resentment, to the young man— 


Sister and Brother. 


316 


surprise at the startling revelation of the relation- 
ship that had existed between himself and the 
man who had for so long and persistently an 
noyed his mother and himself, and resentment 
towards the false husband who had so cruelly 
deceived his mother, imposing upon her the bur- 
den of widowhood while still the wife of a living 
man. 

Of course, the story, as it was told to the son, 
whom the writer by his own act had defrauded 
of a father’s love, was palliated by what the 
writer deemed the extenuating fact, that in the 
first place he had not intended to desert his wife, 
Rachel, when he left her to take his usual sail on 
the water. A squall had arisen, and the little boat 
upset, when, fortunately or unfortunately as the 
case might be, an outward-bound vessel passing 
just then, one of the crew spied him, and he was 
picked up for the rest. He had loved the mo- 
ther of Evelyn from his earliest boyhood, and 
when he reached his native land, to which the 
vessel had been bound, he determined to visit his 
home, see once more the friends of his youth. 


Sister and Brother. 


317 


and then, returning to Rachel, seek with her, 
some new place, and try to forget the past. That 
he had never put into effect — this intention, he 
could palliate by no words to the son, who could 
only remember his mother’s sad fate. But he 
begged that he would remain the friend and bro- 
ther of his sister, Evelyn, who, it must be remem- 
bered, was in no way to blame for her father’s 
sin. “And now, my son,” concluded the letter, 
“from my grave I ask you to forgive me for 
what wrong I have done to you. For your mo- 
ther’s wrongs, she herself forgave me ere she died, 
— of that I had full assurance, — and I hold you to 
your promise made to me, at your mother’s grave 
to abide by the provisions of my will, in which I 
have left you a son’s portion.” 

It was with many and varied emotions that 
Frank Markham read the words, penned by a 
hand now lying x^owerless in the tomb ; and at 
first, he was conscious of nothing but a hot feel- 
ing of angry resentment towards the man whose 
heartless sin had made his mother’s life so 


Sister and Brother. 


318 


dreary, and left himself without a father’s love 
or care — so that at first while under the infiuence 
of that feeling, he had almost determined that he 
would not comply with the terms of the will, that 
Avas but the outcome of a late repentance, a par- 
tial atonement for a cruel wrong. 

And it was while he was in this mood, that 
Margery came to him, with the tears shining in 
her sweet soft eyes, and a world of sorrow in her 
tender heart. 

‘‘Oh, Frank!” she said, putting her arms 
about him, as he sat with his head drooping, in 
an attitude of gloom that Margery had never wit- 
nessed before. “ Frank, dear, I know it all, and 
I am sore to the heart for all your wrongs. 
Though, indeed,” she added gently, “ I can scarcely 
regret that our dear Evelyn is so closely related to 
you ; nor can you regret, dear, that you have found • 
such a sweet sister.” And she looked lovingly 
into his face, over which a sad smile was now 
stealing. 

“ You must be a witch, Margery,” he returned, 
looking fondly up at her. “For indeed all my 


Sister and Brother. 


3^9 


angry feelings fly at your approach. But it 
needed no new knowledge to enable me to regard 
Evelyn as a sister, for,” he added playfully, 
‘‘ you had made her that already.” 

But yet, after all, it was a strange meeting 
that took place between the brother and sister, 
in that same room, the library, in which their err- 
ing parent had met his lonely end. 

‘‘ You will agree to accept whatever he has 
left you in his will, Frank,” had been poor Eve- 
lyn’s entreaty, after they had discussed their new 
tie of relationship, ‘‘for you would not,” she 
added, noting his hesitation, “refuse to grant 
our father the forgiveness he asks from his grave, 
which you would be doing, by refusing what, 
after all, is only your lawful inheritance.” 

“I will assent to the terms of your father’s 
will, Evelyn,” he returned, taking her hand in 
his own. “ And may God forgive him, as I do.” 

Not yet could Frank Markham say, “my 
father” of the man who had so long denied to 
him the right to so call him. 

Some few days after this interview between 


320 


Sister and Brother, 


tlie brother and sister, they were all assembled 
together in the library to listen to the reading of 
the will — Horace Stewart, and Evelyn his wife, 
Frank and Margery, and some few others, rela- 
tives and friends, beneficiaries in a small way 
under the will, who had been summoned by law- 
yer Davidson to attend. 

After naming the smaller legacies, the will 
was as follows : 

‘‘To my dear daughter Evelyn, I will and 
bequeath my family mansion, with all the furni- 
ture therein ; also my farm outside the city, with 
all the stock thereon, and the sum of one hun- 
dred thousand dollars in cash, bonds, and shares 
in the bank of Silverton ; and I appoint my son- 
in-law, Horace Stewart, joint administrator with 
my daughter of her estate. 

“ To Frank Markham, of the firm of Stewart 
& Markham, I will and bequeath all my interest, 
right and ownership in the shares of the Silver- 
ton Bronze Company, of whatever kind and value 
at the date of my death ; also my house and lot 
in the city of Silverton, now rented and occupied 


Sister and Brother, 


321 


by the president of the Bank of Silver ton ; and 
two hundred thousand dollars in bonds and cash 
in the National' Bank of Silverton ; and I desire 
that the said Frank Markham take for himself 
and his x^osterity the name of Wentworth, 
together with what I have in this my will 
bequeathed to him and his heirs forever.” 

As may be supx^osed, the publishing of Her- 
bert Wentworth’s will x^roved a nine days’ won- 
der to the peoxde of Silverton that he should 
leave to Frank Markham such a colossal fortune, 
when it had been so long patent to them all, that 
he had intensely disliked the young man. Ah, 
well !” some of them decided, “he must have left 
it to him, as a sort of salve for the ill-will shown 
during the young man’s boyhood. It was all 
right, of course,^’ they said, “but then it was 
rather unusual, you know.” 

“ But there’s more in it than you or I can see, 
Mrs. Taylor,” declared Mrs. Banks, a few days 
later, as the two friends sat enjoying a fragrant 
cup of tea ; and she looked wisely in her neigh- 

boFs face. 

, 14 * 


322 


Sister and Brother. 


‘‘That’s Just what I said, to Taylor, when he 
told me of it,” assented the visitor. “ There’s some 
deep mystery in it, there is, said I, and you’ll 
find it out, yet, Taylor, said 1. People don’t go 
and leave fortunes to people, said I, who are no 
relations to them, without some deep reason, so 
they don’t. And do you know, Mrs. Banks,” she 
declared energetically, “that he couldn’t help 
agreeing with me, for as I said to him, if they 
could, why not leave them to people that has 
worked faithful for them for years and years, and 
not to people that he wasn’t even friendly with, 
for ever so long.” And the lady, in some need of 
refreshment after so much exertion, raised her 
cup, and drank its contents. 

“Now, don’t fill it, i)lease, dear Mrs. Banks. 
I feel as if three cups was quite too much for my 
nerves,” she pleaded, while her polite hostess, 
paying no attention to her last remark, insisted 
on filling her guest’s cup. 

“It won’t hurt you a mite,” she remarked. 
“It’s the best black tea— I never use any other 
kind. But as you were saying about Mr. Went- 


Sister and Brother. 


323 


worth. 1 quite agree with you, that it’s the 
strangest will I ever heard of. But then it’s just 
like the rich folks. As Banks remarked to me 
to-day, they never leave their money where it’s 
most wanted — they don’t. But all *I can say is, 
that if the truth was known peo^^le in Silverton 
has been harboring vipers among them — and 
I’d say it with my last breath, I would.” 

So it will be seen that Mr. Wentworth’s will 
had not given pleasure to everyone who heard of 
its provisions. But, perhaps, that was not of 
much matter, after all, as the ones most con- 
cerned appeared to be sa^sfied ; and feeling in 
general in regard to it soon died away, or, at 
least, soon ceased to be the prevailing topic. 

If Frank Markham felt any distaste towards 
assuming the name his mother had been de- 
frauded of in her lifetime, he kept the feeling 
within himself. It was only his own lawful right, 
after all, he reflected— and, although he had 
made the name his mother had borne an honor- 
able one, he had no right to deprive his own 


324 


Sister and Brother, 


children of the name and fortune that was their 
inheritance. 

So the secret that had been such a weary load 
to Herbert Wentworth, during those last sad 
days of his, lonely life, was, by natural consent 
between the four people most concerned, buried 
forever in their hearts, not to be revealed even to 
their children, who could meet no harm from its 
concealment, save, in the event of some future 
contingency which the careful parents would 
endeavor to guard against. 

Among the smaller legacies in Herbert Went- 
worth’s will was one of several thousand dol- 
lars, donated to boys — orphans, especially — who 
desired an education or the privilege of learning 
a trade ; and in this he had been actuated, in part, 
by the example of his gentle i3artner, but greatly 
by his keen remembrance of the early struggles 
of the boy he himself had shrank from in those 
long-past days. 

And when, from his newly-acquired fortune 
Frank Wentworth, as he was now called, added 
a like sum, the fund arose to a respectable store 


Sister and Brother, 


325 


for Silverton’s struggling boys, whose industry 
or ambition led them to benefit by its provisions. 

It had been poor Rachel Markham’s early 
dream to live to see her boy a gentleman — that 
is, in the sense the word is known among the 
peasantry of the land of her birth ; but if she 
could have lived to see him now, a gentleman in 
the highest sense of the word, respected and 
honored by the best in 8ilverton, and not alone 
for the wealth he would so honestly administer. 
True, he had won that honor and respect ere she 
left him ; but it had taken wealth and high 
estate to prove to his fellows that he would be 
just the same under all circumstances. 

As the largest stockholder among them, and 
being a thorough master of the business in all its 
branches, it was deemed the right thing to make 
him president of the company, at the meeting 
called for that purpose. 

He was just leaving the room where he had 
been honored — so highly honored — his heart full 
of the feeling called there by the immensity of 
the change in his fortunes since his last visit to 


326 


Sister and Brother. 


the i^lace, when he came face to face with his 
old friend, Mr. Richards. 

“So you’ve won your right place at last, 
Frank,” said the old man, who had always loved 
him as boy and man. “ And it’s just as it should 
be. Though, indeed,” he added, gravely, “ I 
never dreamed that Mr. Wentworth would prove 
so generous to you. However, I need not tell you 
that you have my heartiest congratulations in 
your success.” 

“Thanks, for your good wishes, Mr. Rich- 
ards,” answered the younger man, not without 
emotion. But he made no reference to the secret 
reason for the dead chief’s generosity, then or 
ever after, in his intercourse with the kind old 
superintendent. 

^‘And what do you think, boys?” was the 
pleased remark of one of the workmen, a few 
days after the meeting of the company, “ we’re 
to get ten per cent, raise in our wages, after the 
first of the month.” 

‘‘No ! you don’t say it ! Harry,” eagerly asked 


Sister and Brother, 


327 


another, stopping in his work of polishing the 
base of a lamp. Where did you hear it, Harry 

“From no less a person than Mr. Richards 
himself,” declared the man called Harry. 

“Well, that’s good news anyhow,” returned 
the other, resuming his work, a complacent smile 
wreathing his face. “ But then I’ m not much sur- 
prised after all,” he added, “ for I thought some- 
thing good would come from Frank Markham’s 
coming into the business.” 

“You’re right, you are, Tom, for Mr. Rich- 
ards told me that it was all his doing— that is, Mr. 
Markham’s, or, as he is to be called in future, Mr. 
Wentworth.” 

“ Well,” concluded Tom, “ I know I’d rather 
call him our chief, than the last Mr. Wentworth, 
and I’m much mistaken if that’s not the general 
sentiment among us all.” 

And the nods of assent that greeted his words 
took nothing from Tom’s complacent manner, as 
he went on with his work. 


328 


Conclusion, 


CHAPTER XIX 

CONCLUSION. 

F ive years have passed away, when again we 
look on the people of Silverton. 

In the pleasant home of James Parkins there 
is festive preparation for some interesting event 
about to take place. Mrs. Parkins, good woman, 
is bustling about in the midst of her guests, 
prominent among whom is our old friend Mrs. 
Joice, who is bristling with real importance, and 
with reason, too, for on this day her son John 
Joice was to be married to Xora Parkins, the 
pretty young graduate. 

For, John had transferred the boyish love 
treasured so long for gentle Lizzie Parkins to her 
IDretty young sister, and when, some years later, 
he found that it had grown to be a man’s strong 
love, he was rendered inexpressibly happy by her 
consent to be his wife. 

Bo the friendship that had existed between the 


Conchcsion. 


329 


families in the days of their struggling poverty, 
was cemented by the union of the two young peo- 
ple. 

John Joice had, through steady industry and 
careful economy, saved a snug little sum, which 
he had invested in a pretty cottage, where, with 
good health and steady employment, he hoped to 
make a happy, if humble home for his young 
wife. 

But the feast was spread and the guests sat 
around to enjoy the good things that Mrs. Par- 
kins had prepared, to grace her daughter’s wed- 
ding. 

Mrs. Taylor, nodding and smiling at her friend 
Mrs. Banks, took critical views of the dainty 
spread table, for in a few weeks she herself would 
be called on to give such a feast when her own 
Sarah would be a bride. ‘‘I could just cry for 
that poor, dear Mrs. Parkins,” she remarked to 
Mrs. Banks, in a loud whisper. 

“Well, I don’t know,” returned the lady 
addressed. “I don’t see as she’s much to be 
pitied. John Joice isn’t getting such a great 


330 


Conclusion. 


match, as I can see. A girl that’s been to school 
nearly all the time isn’t much of a wife for a 
working man ; if there’s anybody to be sorry for 
it’s him, I think.” And the lady sipped her tea 
enjoyingly. 

And yet it must have been a strange fancy of 
the ladies to pick out the intensely happy look- 
ing bridegroom as an object of pity. He knew — 
none better — that his pretty bride’s superior edu- 
cation took nothing from her qualities as a useful 
helpmate, for he had too long noted her character 
as her parent’s helpful daughter to form a differ- 
ent opinion of her. Without the self-forgetful 
nature that had proved so harmful to her sister 
Lizzie, Nora possessed qualities that, added to 
her other gifts, would make her a rare blessing 
in a workingman’s home; and John Joice was 
rarely favored in finding in her his helpmate. 

Silverton has grown in progress during those 
five years. It has many and costly buildings, 
not the least of which is the Grranite Church, of 
which Mr. Frank Wentworth is the leading mem- 
ber. He has grown to be a rich man, the presi- 


Conclusion. 


33 ^ 


dent of the Silverton Bronze Company. But his 
riches are wisely used, as the people of Silverton 
know — for the present Wentworth, unlike his 
predecessor, never forgets that he is only the 
steward of the wealth intrusted to him. 

A warm and tender friendship has grown up 
between his sister Evelyn and himself — a friend- 
ship that not even those divided graves in the 
cemetery tends to chill — for, though Frank ever 
cherishes a tender pity for his mother’s broken 
life, he has also remembered that his father’s 
gentle daughter was in no way to blame for the 
hidden sin that had wronged herself as well. 
For her sake alone, more than the promise he 
had given at his mother’s grave, he consented to 
let the secret remain hidden, though it entailed 
to himself the lifelong pain of knowing that, even 
in death, poor Rachel bore not her false hus- 
band’s name. 

In the sunniest place in the pretty cemetery, 
he had chosen his mother’s grave. He had since 
had the large plot fenced in, in costly, simple 
style. The name on the little gate is, ‘‘Went- 


332 


Cvnclusion. 


worth,"’ but the only inscri23tion on the tall shaft 
that marks the solitary grave, is “My Mother.” 
Her lawful name on the stone would have caused 
comment. He would have no other name for her. 
So, underneath it all, poor Rachel sleeps in peace, 
and Margery’ s children keep her grave fragrant 
with rare, sweet flowers. 

Frank Wentworth has tried to forgive the 
man who sleeps in the near vicinity to his moth- 
er’s nameless grave, but he never goes near the 
spot where his father rests beside Evelyn’s 
mother. All the fllial reverence of his heart is 
devoted to the memory of his mother. 

The people of the Grranite Church are amazed, 
now and then, by the strange reports that come 
to them of the erratic pranks of their former 
idol, the Reverend M. H. Welton. For that gen- 
tleman, having long ceased to pose as a brilliant 
preacher, is given to changing his occupation, and 
when last heard from, was running a large cattle 
ranch in a western State. 

The pompous gentleman who flgured in the 


Conclusion. 


333 


early pages at Mr. Wentworth’s dinner-party, is 
no longer mayor of Silverton. 

Mr. Darrington, the present incumbent, is a 
genial, kindly gentlemen, respected and upheld 
by his fellow-citizens, without regard to politics. 
His wife, though once a working-girl, is a thor- 
ough lady, and very popular with all classes of 
the i^eople of Silverton. 

Doctor Murrey is still the leading phj^sician 
of the place, a general favorite, and his large and 
portly presence, and kindly, benevolent face, are 
eagerly watched for in many a sick room. 

His wife is still, as ever, ready to defend her 
friends in their absence, or to rebuke malignant 
gossip. They have no children of their own, but 
their affection is divided equally between the 
Wentworth and Stewart children of whom there 
is an ample number. 

Harry Parkins is still a journeyman work- 
man. He is well liked by his mates, though he 
wins a reproof now and then from his employers. 
In truth, our Harry, is a type of the average 
young mechanic ; he will probably never rise above 


334 


Conclusion, 


Ills present position, for he is intensely fond of 
sport, of which there is never a scarcity. His fa- 
ther frowns in disapproval of his son’s improvi- 
dence, while his mother, with a little sigh, says : 

Harry is young yet, James ; he will be wiser 
by and bye.” Let us hope that the tender moth- 
er’s hope will be fulfilled. 

And there is reason to hope, too, for Harry has 
fallen in love, and his love is returned, by a nice 
little girl who works in the factory. Mary Price 
is a good,, warm-hearted girl, of strong religious 
principles, and sweet womanly ways. She will 
be his good genius, to lead him to better things 
than aimless pleasure-seeking 

“For I will say,” commented Mrs. Joice, 
when she heard of the coming match, “ that a good 
wife is a blessing from the Lord, and Harry Par- 
kins’ will get one in Mary Price.” 

When strangers from adjoining cities come 
to visit Silverton, they are apt to notice, as the 
first object to attract attention, the wonderfully 
large bronze factory, whose president, Mr. Frank 
Wentworth, came to Silverton a poor boy, many 


Conclusion, 


335 


years before, and they listen to the romantic 
story of the young man’s life, and make favor- 
able comment on the generosity of the former 
Mr. Wentworth, as well they may, being totally 
ignorant of the secret, that, if revealed, would 
have told them, that to Frank Wentworth had 
been given no more than his lawful inheritance. 


THE END. 




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